The Archimage's Fourth Daughter Read online

  Jake laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Margo asked.

  “Never mind,” Jake said. “You said we could talk about the problem I now have with cash flow.”

  “Yes, Jake, I get an allowance, too. I could be increasing what I send you each month.”

  “That would be Gucci, Margo,” Jake said.

  “But there is a catch,” Margo persisted with a foxlike smile. “Your weekly flights up here. Now they would have to be two times a week instead of only one.” She wagged a finger in front of Jake’s nose and then extended a second one next to it.

  Jake frowned, and he stared into the distance as if he were considering. “Well, I am a college student,” he said with a smile. “Classes, homework, tests. All kinda stuff taking a lot of time.”

  “Oh, poor baby,” Margo pulled Jake’s head down onto her breasts. “Somehow, I think you will manage to survive. Now, let’s get back to what we were doing.”

  Comparative Religions 101

  JAKE PULLED the door open to the hall as quietly as he could. The lecture had already started, and the professor had glowered at him when he was late the time before. No sense in calling attention to himself again.

  “Hi, my name is Briana. What’s yours?”

  Jake’s eyes widened. A young woman was standing in the landing leading to the seats. A redhead, and slender. Not too much on the top, but enough. Her clothes were faded and frayed. Probably immigrant parents trying to give her an education. She carried what looked like a full backpack over one shoulder. He looked about and frowned. It was as if she were waiting for him.

  “You are the one with the Tesla, right?” Briana smiled. “I really would like a ride in a chariot like that.”

  Jake’s frown flipped into a smile. Kaching! The bait had worked again. And about time, too. The trips up north kept him satisfied on a physical level, but, like with his old man, what was easy and familiar had begun to grow a little stale.

  “Ahem!” the professor coughed.

  “Not so loud,” Jake whispered. “Let’s get a seat, and we can talk when the class is over.”

  He led Briana to the back row, and made a big production of setting the swing-table in place and opening a notebook. Briana mimicked his motions, but with a jerky hesitancy as if she were doing so for the very first time.

  “According to Buddha, the first Noble Truth is that life is frustrating and painful.” The professor resumed his lecture. “And the second is that such suffering has a cause. The third states the cause of suffering can…”

  Jake’s eyelids felt heavy. Staying up until three the night before a class day probably was not a good idea.

  JAKE FELT a gentle touch on his shoulder. The babble of students filing out beside him filled his ears.

  “I selected the assignment for you from the first pile on the table in front. All twelve choices were face down so it would be random chance,” Briana said as she waved a sheet of paper in front of his eyes.

  “What assignment?” Jake shook his head. Short naps made his brain feel as if it were a bowl of mush. He probably would have been better off fighting to stay awake.

  “The meditation lesson,” Briana said. “It has been arranged. This one is at the Kalasandra Buddhist Center. Afterward, you are to write an essay about your… your, yes, that is the word, your experience.”

  Jake stood up and waited for the last of the other students to pass. He appraised Briana a second time. Yeah, she would do for the next notch. “You wanna ride in a Tesla? Then come along. We can get to know each other better on the way over.”

  JAKE HAD expected something more elaborate, but the building was quite simple. A small covered entrance in the center and two slits for windows on either side. Except for a half-dozen gilded adornments on bare white stucco, it could have passed for a small Spanish missionary church from a couple hundred years ago.

  A smiling monk dressed in yellow and red greeted Jake and Briana as they entered. “The meditation room is to the right,” he said. “I will be your resident teacher this morning.”

  Like the monk, the room was adorned with brilliant colors — yellow walls, tables draped in red, and on the floor, a dozen two-tiered cushions of deep ocean blue. Most of the seats were already occupied — legs crossed in front on the larger cushions underneath and smaller ones on top supporting the buttocks. Hands relaxed in laps with fingers curled upward.

  Jake and Briana imitated what the others were doing and focused on the teacher who moved quietly to a position in front.

  “There are many ways to meditate,” the monk began. “All have merit. Today I will instruct you in the Mindfulness of Breathing.

  “There are four steps,” he continued. “Place, posture, prohibition, and practice. Look about you. You are here in this serene environment. You have achieved place. Straighten your backs and close your eyes and you will achieve posture.

  “Now, try to rid your mind of your thoughts. Try to prohibit them from occurring. Focus instead on one single thing — your breathing, in and out. Continue the practice, making it more natural.

  “As you do so, your mind will begin to wander. Irritations will arise — a cramp in your leg, an itch needing to be scratched, will you finish this in time in order not to be late for work. These things are natural. But when they occur, continue to concentrate on breathing, nothing else. Do not satisfy the itch; do not worry about how bad the traffic will be. You will discover that with each breath the distracting thoughts become weaker and weaker.”

  Jake felt himself start to nod off again. He might even tumble into the person sitting next to him unless he was careful. Cautiously he opened his eyes. Everyone else had theirs closed, even Briana and the instructor.

  He rose, tiptoed to the doorway, and exited back into the hall. Everything was still and quiet as he expected — everything except what sounded like a raised voice further down the corridor. Whoever was speaking was not in a serene state. Jake decided to move closer so he could make out the words. Anything was better than the boredom of concentrating on his breathing.

  “But the resident teacher said the only thing that remained was your final approval,” the voice became clearer, and Jake stopped at a curtainway on the left. “I have taken both the beginner class and the intermediate ones as well. I have sold all of my possessions and given the proceeds to charity. The clothes on my back are all that I have left. I want to exchange them for the robe of a monk. I want to achieve enlightenment. I really do.”

  “Your words betray the state of your mind,” an older and softer voice replied from behind the drapery. “Craving enlightenment is no different from craving anything else in this world. One has to relieve himself of all earthly desires, even the desire for awakening itself.”

  Curious, Jake leaned closer, hoping to hear more. He glanced back the length of the hallway to see if anyone was watching him. He saw two heavyset men in dirty T-shirts and low hanging pants striding purposely down the corridor toward him, and he promptly stood.

  “I lost my way to the meditation room,” he blurted as they drew close. “Perhaps you can tell me which way I should — ”

  Without speaking, the taller of the two men pushed Jake to the ground, flung back the curtain, and entered the chamber on the other side. The second followed.

  “Hey!” Jake scrambled back onto his feet and clambered after them. “You can’t push me around like that!”

  The room was occupied by the two speakers standing close together. One was big and black. Like a newly sprouting lawn, a curly stubble adorned his cheeks and chin. His head was shaved bald, perhaps in imitation of the other. The second was much older. His age bore down on him like a huge dragon settling into a nest. But despite the interruption, his face, like a pond on a windless day, was serene and untroubled.

  “The premium is overdue, your holiness or whatever you call yourself,” the first intruder said to the older one. The second grabbed a tapestry displaying umbrellas, fish, vas
es, conch shells, and other stylized symbols and tumbled it to the ground.

  “Stop that!” Jake said. “Hey! Look at me. I’m talking to you.”

  “This is none of your business, nosy.” The first intruder said. “Gonzo, take care of this twerp while I continue talking to the master here.” He grabbed the old man’s robe by the collar and squeezed it about his neck.

  “No!” the big man shouted. “Buddha teaches we shall not cause harm.”

  Jake turned his attention back to the second thug who was smiling as he walked purposefully toward him. Uh-oh! What was that self-defense class he had taken? He should have paid more attention. Now everything about it was a blur.

  “Oof!” the first thug exclaimed. The second hoodlum approaching Jake turned to look. But only for an instant. The big man’s upraised foot slammed into the goon’s face, sending him flying. As the first ruffian regained his footing, he reached into his waistband for a gun. A second kick sent it reeling out of his hand and clattered across the tiles.

  Jake took a stance in imitation of the big man who was doing all of the defending and tried to look as fierce as he could.

  “All right,” the first thug said. “There is no need to continue the conversation.” He rubbed the side of his face, moving his jaws from side to side. “Look at your precious tapestries,” he said after a moment. “More of that could happen unless… unless you pay for our protection. Think it over. We will be back in a month. Have a dime ready then, and you will not have to worry.”

  “And as for you two.” He looked at Jake and the defender. “You had better not venture in the neighborhood too much unless you have a lot, and I mean a lot, of friends with you.”

  Without waiting for a reply, the two men left the temple.

  “You see, Master,” the big man said, “There is more I can provide the temple than only serene contemplation. I have studied martial arts, more than one in fact.”

  “You must go, Maurice.” The master shook his head. “Your act shows how shallow still are the words you have learned to mimic. There is still too much of the world within you that has to be expunged. A mind full of quotations, but no understanding of them in your heart.”

  “But, if I had not — ”

  “Go, my son, go. Go forth and first find inner peace. Remove your inner confusion. And when you have done that, then you may return and begin to walk the Eightfold Path.”

  Maurice’s shoulders fell. He started to say more, but then turned and exited the chamber. Jake followed him out.

  “Buddha says, ‘On life’s journey, faith is nourishment, virtuous deeds are a shelter,’“ Maurice whispered. “But my deeds were deemed unworthy, and now I have no place to go.”

  Briana emerged from the meditation room as they passed. “There you are,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder.”

  An idea popped into Jake’s mind. He turned to face Maurice. “You know about all of this Buddha mumbo-jumbo stuff, right?” he blurted.

  “I have studied some, yes. But apparently not enough.”

  “Perfect. Here’s the deal, Maurice. I have a pad right on the ocean. Three bedrooms and I am only using one. The second is for the stuff I have stored for a while. We can put that in the kitchenette… at least for a few days anyway.”

  “So?”

  “So, you have no place to stay. I have an essay on meditation I need written. Move in with me. Room and board provided gratis. And while you are there, you can write my paper. This will be great. I will ace the thing!”

  “Three bedrooms?” Briana asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I want to move in with you, too,” Briana said.

  Jake smiled. The next notch was going to be easier than he thought.

  Repeating Opportunity

  THALING AROSE from sleeping on the table in his alcove and listened. Often, Dinton and Angus got into squabbles between the times when they all three met. By the time the echoes reached him, the words usually were unintelligible, but their intent always was clear.

  Today there was silence. A full twenty-four hours with no bickering. He straightened his back, and grunted in irritation at his thoughts, at how even he, like everyone of their band, had converted to use the native’s measures of time. Then he focused his attention on the far wall of his alcove, closed his eyes to concentrate, and beckoned the nearest rockbubbler imp to attend unto him.

  “Practice no craft, indeed!” he muttered. Then, “Lilacbottom, attend unto me,” he said with his normal voice.

  A small circle appeared in the rock and then grew in size rapidly. Through the opening, Thaling saw the rest of the sphere irising into the alcove and the large glowing sprite hovering in its center.

  Like almost all smaller demons, the bony arms crossed in front of a shallow chest and its legs coiled into a knot. The forehead bulged with bumps and mounds. Tufts of coarse hair protruded from tiny ears. The nose lay smashed across a broad and pockmarked face. Except for the whine of rapidly beating wings, it looked like the well-preserved remains of a grotesque child.

  “Your wish, Boss,” the imp said.

  “You are to call me Master, not Boss,” Thaling growled. “I have told you this many times. The language of the natives is hideous enough without adding any slang to it.”

  “Got it. Master, not Boss.” The sprite hesitated a few seconds. “And I would prefer you call me ‘Heroic Avenger’ rather than the nickname the others give me.” It hesitated a few seconds more. “And your wish, Boss?” it asked.

  “To the lab, Lilacbottom.” The exile exhaled in frustration. The little brains evidently could only hold so much at one time. Reinstalling proper respect would be dealt with later. He stepped through the iris and, like a child on a slope of snow, slid to the bottom of the sphere.

  The orb centered on the small demon. Except for the opening into the alcove, in every direction at its boundary, Thaling saw solid rock. The empty volume in which he sat had not disappeared, Thaling knew. It still existed, but somehow the sprite temporarily displaced it to be somewhere else.

  Lilacbottom retreated from the alcove. The opening shrank in size and finally closed all together. Like a bubble in a dull gray sea, the sphere started moving through the surrounding basalt, opening the passage ahead and closing it behind. Although he had made the journey countless times, Thaling still marveled at how smooth it was. As the surrounding rock oozed by, he felt no motion, and only an occasional large crystal of quartz or feldspar marked the passage,

  Some distance from the alcoves and passageways of the exiles, the imp’s sphere opened onto a vast cavern. A dozen sprites with the surfaces of their spheres touching one another created a two-dimensional array. In the base of each orb sat a flat, circular table of stone supporting precisely ordered collections of artifacts garnered from the world of sky and wind above. All contained human artifacts, all that is, except for one.

  “Let there be light,” Thaling said, and the small demons scurried to ignite the dozen or more candles standing on each of the tables. The feeble body glow of the sprites faded in comparison to the vibrant yellow filling the chamber. The expenditure of the precious candles was extravagant, Thaling knew, but Angus always managed somehow to provide more to him than his fair share. Perhaps Dinton did not protest because of the stack of newspapers he received instead. In any event, his eldest brother’s protests about not visiting the surface was no more than bluster to nettle his younger siblings.

  Thaling climbed up the not-quite-slippery curved slope of the sphere that had brought him and then slid into the bubble adjacent. When he had contacted and dominated the initial rockbubbler some time ago, he had gone almost insane collecting more and building an empire vaster than the entire prison confining all the other exiles. He had even dared to command one imp to rise to the surface, but then quickly reversed direction when he felt the first hint of the outside air.

  Now, his domain was only the size necessary, what was needed for the means of revenge. Dinton was delu
sional. None of their kind would last as long as the eldest brother said it would take. And Angus was so undisciplined, always suggesting wild escape schemes that had no chance of success. Thaling surveyed the extent of his laboratory and smiled. What would his brothers think if they saw all of this? Spools of copper wire and solder, bolts of precisely the correct length and threading, perfectly cut squares and rectangles of aluminum, a vial of etching acid. He had assembled it all.

  To keep his focus, Thaling recited the steps of a remembered ritual in his mind. The hint of sulphur in the air was soothing. It calmed his thoughts like a female’s caress. His was the true method to achieve victory, not only escape from the captivity in which the ones who called themselves the Faithful had placed them, but return to the home world for vengeance as well.

  Sliding from one sphere to another, he arrived at the most important. Though it had been a millennium, the anger was still fresh within him. After the defeat, they had been forced by the Faithful to walk through the portal one by one to the horrible prison now containing them. Dinton, Angus, and all the others had submitted. Thaling and his mate, Alika, had been the only ones remaining to transfer.

  He remembered the last he saw of her. She entered the passage, the door shut, and after a short time, it opened again. If she had complied like the rest, the portal should have been empty, but it was not. Alika stood there, hands on hips, fangs bared, and growling. How could one not be attracted to one such as that? The very embodiment of the Heretics Who Proclaim the Truth.

  The reaction of the self-proclaimed victors was swift. Good to their threat, she was hacked to pieces before Thaling’s eyes. Then with no time to grieve, he was the one forced to collect the pieces of her body for disposal and clean up the ichor. Only when that was done, did he make the very last transfer.