light as much of the orrery as possible. As always, the skills of his
own world had failed. To the blazes with it, then--when in magic land,
magic had to do.
He thought of calling Ser Perth or Sather Karf, but there was no time
for that, and they could hardly have heard him over the sounds of the
desperate fight going on.
He bent to the floor, searching until he found a ball of the sky
material that had been pinched off when the little opening was sealed.
Further hunting gave him a few bits of dust from the star bits and some
of the junk that had gone into shaping the planets. He brushed in some
dirt from the ground that had been touched by the sun stuff and was
still glowing faintly. He wasn't at all sure of how much he could
extrapolate from what he'd read in the book on Applied Semantics, but he
knew he needed a control--a symbol of the symbol, in this case. It was
crude, but it might serve to represent the orrery.
He clutched it in his hand and touched it against the orrery, trying to
remember the formula for the giving of a true name. He had to improvise,
but he got through a rough version of it, until he came to the end: "I
who created you name you--" What the deuce did he name it? "I name you
Rumpelstilsken and order you to obey me when I call you by your name."
He clutched the blob of material tighter in his hand, mentally trying to
shape an order that wouldn't backfire, as such orders seemed to in the
childhood stories of magic he had learned. Finally his lips whispered
the simplest order he could find. "Rumpelstilsken, repair yourself!"
There was a whirring and scraping inside the mechanism, and Hanson let
out a yell. He got only a hasty glimpse of gears that seemed to be back
on their tracks before Sather Karf was beside him, driving the cranks
with desperate speed.
"We have less than a minute!" the old voice gasped.
The Sather's fingers spun on the controls. Then he straightened, moving
his hands toward the orrery in passes too rapid to be seen. There was a
string of obvious ritual commands in their sacred language. Then a
single word rang out, a string of sounds that should have come from no
human vocal chords.
There was a wrench and twist through every atom of Hanson's body. The
universe seemed to cry out. Over the horizon, a great burning disc rose
and leaped toward the heavens as the sun went back to its place in the
sky. The big bits of sky-stuff around also jerked upwards, revealing
themselves by the wind they whipped up and by the holes they ripped
through the roof of the building. Hanson clutched at the scrap he had
pocketed, but it showed no sign of leaving, and the tiny blob of
sun-stuff remained fixed to the awl.
Through the diamond lens, Hanson could see the model of the world in the
orrery changing. There were clouds apparently painted on it where no
clouds had been. And there was an indication of movement in the green of
the forests and the blue of the oceans, as if trees were whipping in the
wind and waves lapping the shores.
When he jerked his eyes upward, all seemed serene in the sky. Sunlight
shone normally on the world, and from under the roof he could see the
gaudy blue of sky, complete, with the cracks in it smoothing out as he
watched.
The battle outside had stopped with the rising of the sun. Half the
warlocks were lying motionless, and the other half had clustered
together, close to the building where Hanson and Sather Karf stood. The
Sons of the Egg seemed to have suffered less, since they greatly
out-numbered the others, but they were obviously more shocked by the
rising of the sun and the healing of the sky.
Then Malok's voice rang out sharply. "It isn't stable yet! Destroy the
machine! The egg must hatch!"
He leaped forward, brandishing his knife, while the Sons of the Egg fell
in behind him. The warlocks began to close ranks, falling back to make a
stand under the jutting edge of the roof, where they could protect the
orrery. Bork and Ser Perth were among them, bloody but hopelessly
determined.
One look at Sather Karf's expression was enough to convince Hanson that
Malok had cried the truth and that their work could still be undone. And
it was obvious that the warlocks could never stand the charge of the
Sons. Too many of them had already been killed, and there was no time
for reviving them.
Sather Karf was starting forward into the battle, but Hanson made no
move to follow. He snapped the diamond lens to his eye and his fingers
caught at the drop of sun-stuff on the awl. He had to hold it near the
glowing bit for steadiness, and it began searing his fingers. He forced
control on his muscles and plunged his hand slowly through the sky
sphere, easing the glowing blob downward toward the spot on the globe he
had already located with the lens. His thumb and finger moved downward
delicately, with all the skill of practice at working with nearly
invisibly fine wires on delicate instruments.
Then he jerked his eyes away from the model and looked out. Something
glaring and hot was suspended in the air five miles away. He moved his
hand carefully, steadying it on one of the planet tracks. The glowing
fire in the air outside moved another mile closer--then another. And
now, around it, he could see a monstrous fingertip and something that
might have been miles of thumbnail.
The warlocks leaped back under the roof. The Sons of the Egg screamed
and panicked. Jerking horribly, the monstrous thing moved again. For
part of a second, it hovered over the empty camp. Then it was gone.
Hanson began pulling his hand out through the shell of the model,
whimpering as his other hand clenched against the blob in his pocket. He
had suddenly realized what horrors were possible to anyone who could use
the orrery now. "Rumpelstilsken, I command you to let no hand other than
mine enter and to respond to no other controls." He hoped it would offer
enough protection.
His hand came free and he threw the sun-bit away with a flick of his
wrist. His hand ached with the impossible task of steadiness he had set
it, and his finger and thumb burned and smoked. But the wound was
already healing.
In the exposed section of the camp, the Sons of the Egg were charred
corpses. There was a fire starting on the roof of the building, but
others had already run out to quench that. It sounded like the snuffling
progress of an undine across the roof! Maybe magic was working again.
Bork turned back from the sight of his former companions. His face was
sick, but he managed to grin at Hanson. "Dave Hanson, to whom nothing is
impossible," he said.
Hanson had located Nema finally as she approached. He caught her hand
and grabbed Bork's arm. Like his own, it was trembling with fatigue and
reaction.
"Come on," he said. "Let's find some place where we can see whether it's
impossible now for you to magic up a decent meal. And a drink strong
enough to scare away the sylphs."
The sylph that found them wasn't scared by the Scotch, but there was
enough for all of them.
X
Three days can work magic--in a world where magic works. The planets
swung along their paths again and the sun was in the most favorable
house for conjuration. The universe was stable again.
There was food for all, and houses had been conjured hastily to shelter
the people. The plagues were gone. Now the strange commerce and industry
of this world were humming again. Those who had survived and those who
could be revived were busily rebuilding. Some were missing, of course.
Those who had risen and--hatched--were beyond recall, but no one spoke
of them. If any Sons of the Egg survived, they were quiet in their
defeat.
Hanson had been busy during most of the time. It had been taken for
granted that he would tend to the orrery, setting it for the most
favorable conditions when some special major work of magic required it,
and he had taken the orders and moved the controls as they wanted them.
The orrery was housed temporarily in the reconstituted hall of the
Satheri in the capital city. They were building a new hall for it, to be
constructed only of natural materials and hand labor, but that was a
project that would take long months still.
Now the immediate pressure was gone, and Hanson was relaxing with Bork
and Nema.
"Another week," Bork was saying. "Maybe less. And then gangs of the
warlocks can spread out to fix up all the rest of the world--and to take
over control of their slaves again. Are you happy with your victory,
Dave Hanson?"
Hanson shrugged. He wasn't entirely sure, now. There was something in
the looks of the Sather who gave him orders for new settings that
bothered him. And some of the developments he watched were hardly what
he would have preferred. The warlocks had good memories, it seemed, and
there had been manifold offenses against them while the world was
falling apart.
He tried to put it out of his mind as he drew Nema to him. She snuggled
against him, admiring him with her eyes. But old habits were hard to
break. "Don't, Dave. I'm a registered and certified--"
She stopped then, blushing, and Bork chuckled.
Ser Perth appeared at the doorway with two of the mandrakes. He motioned
to Hanson. "The council of Satheri want you," he said. His eyes avoided
the other, and he seemed uncomfortable.
"Why?" Bork asked.
"It's time for Dave Hanson's reward," Ser Perth said. The words were
smooth enough, but the eyes turned away again.
Hanson got up and moved forward. He had been wondering when they would
get around to this. Beside him, Bork and Nema also rose. "Never trust a
Sather," Bork said softly.
Nema started to protest, then changed her mind. She frowned, torn
between old and new loyalties.
"The summons was only for Dave Hanson," Ser Perth said sternly as the
three drew up to him. But as Hanson took the arms of the other two, the
Ser shrugged and fell in behind. Very softly, too low for the hearing of
the mandrakes, his words sounded in Hanson's ear. "Guard yourself, Dave
Hanson!"
So there was to be treachery, Hanson thought. He wasn't surprised. He
was probably lucky to have even three friends. The Satheri would hardly
feel very grateful to a mandrake-man who had accomplished something
beyond their power, now that the crisis was over. They had always been a
high-handed bunch, apparently, and he had served his purpose. But he
covered his thoughts in a neutral expression and went forward quietly
toward the huge council room.
The seventy leading Satheri were all present, with Sather Karf
presiding, when Hanson was ushered into their presence. He moved down
the aisle, not glancing at the seated Satheri, until he was facing the
old man, drawing Nema and Bork with him. There were murmurs of protest,
but nobody stopped him. Above him, the eyes of Sather Karf were
uncertain. For a moment, there seemed to be a touch of friendliness and
respect in them, but there was something else that Hanson liked far
less. Any warmth that was there vanished at his first words.
"It's about time," Hanson said flatly. "When you wanted your world
saved, you were free enough with offers of reward. But three days have
passed without mention of it. Sather Karf, I demand your secret name!"
He heard Nema gasp, but felt Bork's fingers press against his arm
reassuringly. There was a rising mutter of shock and anger from the
others, but he lifted his voice over it. "And the secret names of all
those present. That was also part of the promised reward."
"And do you think you could use the names, Dave Hanson?" Sather Karf
asked. "Against the weight of all our knowledge, do you think you could
become our master that easily?"
Hanson had his own doubts. There were counter-magical methods against
nearly all magic, and the book he had read had been only an elementary
one. But he nodded. "I think with your name I could get my hands on your
hearts, even if you did your worst. It doesn't matter. I claim my
reward."
"And you shall have it. The word of Sather Karf is good," the old man
told him. "But there was no mention of when you would be given those
names. You said that when the computer was finished you would _wait_ for
my true name, and I promised that you should have it when the time came,
but not what the time would be. So you will wait, or the agreement shall
be broken by you, not by me. When you are dying or otherwise beyond
power over us, you shall have the names, Dave Hanson. No, hear me!"
He lifted his hand in a brief gesture and Hanson felt a thickness over
his lips that made speech impossible.
"We have discussed your reward, and you shall indeed have it," Sather
Karf went on. "Exactly as I promised it to you. I agreed to find ways to
return you to your own world intact, and you shall be returned."
For a moment, the thickness seemed to relax, and Hanson choked a few
words out through it. "What's the world of a mandrake-man, Sather Karf?
A mandrake swamp?"
"For a mandrake-man, yes. But not for you." There was something like
amusement in the old man's voice. "I never said you were a mandrake-man.
That was told you by Ser Perth who knew no better. No, Dave Hanson, you
were too important to us for that. Mandrake-men are always less than
true men, and we needed your best. You were conjured atom by atom, id
and ka and soul, from your world. Even the soul may be brought over
when enough masters of magic work together and you were our greatest
conjuration. Even then, we almost failed. But you're no mandrake-man."
A load of sickness seemed to leave Hanson's mind. He had never fully
realized how much the shame of what he thought himself to be had weighed
on him. Then his mind adjusted to the new facts, dismissing his past
worries.
"I promised you that we would fill your entire lifetime with pleasures,"
Sather Karf went on. "And you were assured of jewels to buy an empire.
All this the council is prepared to give you. Are you ready for your
reward?"
"No!" Bork's cry broke out before Hanson could answer. The big man was
writhing before he could finish the word, but his own fingers were
working in conjurations that seemed to hold back enough of the spells
against him to let him speak. "Dave Hanson, your world was a world of
rigid laws. You died there. And there would be no magic to avoid the
fact that there you must always be dead."
Hanson's eyes riveted on the face of Sather Karf. The old man looked
back and finally nodded his head. "That is true," he admitted. "It would
have been kinder for you not to know, but it is the truth."
"And jewels enough to buy an empire on a corpse," Hanson accused. "A
lifetime of pleasures--simple enough when that lifetime would be over
before it began. What were the pleasures, Sather Karf? Having you reveal
your name just before I was sent back and feeling I'd won?" He grimaced.
"I reject the empty rewards of your empty promises!"
"I also rejected the interpretation, but I was out-voted," Sather Karf
said, and there was a curious reluctance as he raised his hand. "But it
is too late. Dave Hanson prepare to receive your reward. By the power of
your name--"
Hanson's hand went to his pocket and squeezed down on the blob of sky
material there. He opened his mouth, and found that the thickness was
back. For a split second, his mind screamed in panic as he realized he
could not even pronounce the needed words.
Then coldness settled over his thoughts as he drove them to shape the
unvoiced words in his mind. Nobody had told him that magic incantations
had to be pronounced aloud. It seemed to be the general law, but for all
he knew, ignorance of the law here might change the law. At least he
meant to die trying, if he failed.
"Rumpelstilsken, I command the sun to set!"
He seemed to sense a hesitation in his mind, and then the impression of
jeweled gears turning. Outside the window, the light reddened, dimmed,
and was gone, leaving the big room illuminated by only a few witch
lights.
The words Sather Karf had been intoning came to a sudden stop, even
before they could be drowned in the shouts of shock and panic from the
others. His eyes centered questioningly on Hanson and the flicker of a
smile crossed his face. "To the orrery!" he ordered. "Use the manual
controls."
Hanson waited until he estimated the men who left would be at the
controls. The he clutched the sky-blob again. The thoughts in his mind
were clearer this time.
"Rumpelstilsken, let the sun rise from the west and set in the east!"
Some of the Satheri were at the windows to watch what happened this
time. Their shouts were more frightened than before. A minute later, the
others were back, screaming out the news that the manual controls could
not be moved--could not even be touched.
The orrery named Rumpelstilsken was obeying its orders fully, and the
universe was obeying its symbol.
Somehow, old Sather Karf brought order out of the frightened mob that
had been the greatest Satheri in the world. "All right, Dave Hanson," he
said calmly. "Return the sun to its course. We agree to your
conditions."
"You haven't heard them yet!"
"Nevertheless," Sather Karf answered firmly, "we agree. What else can we
do? If you decided to wreck the sky again, even you might not be able to
repair it a second time." He tapped his hands lightly together and the
sound of a huge gong reverberated in the room. "Let the hall be cleared.
I will accept the conditions in private."
There were no objections. A minute later Hanson, Bork and Nema were
alone with the old man. Sunlight streamed in through the window, and
there were fleecy clouds showing in the blue sky.
"Well?" Sather Karf asked. There was a trace of a smile on his face and
a glow of what seemed to be amusement in his eyes as he listened, though
Hanson could see nothing amusing in the suggestions he was making.
First, of course, he meant to stay here. There was no other place for
him, but he would have chosen to stay in any event. Here he had
developed into what he had never even thought of being, and there were
still things to be learned. He'd gone a long way on what he'd found in
one elementary book. Now, with a chance to study all their magical lore
and apply it with the methods he had learned in his own world, there
were amazing possibilities opening up to him. For the world, a few
changes would be needed. Magic should be limited to what magic did best;
the people needed to grow their own food and care for themselves. And
they needed protection from the magicians. There would have to be a code
of ethics to be worked out later.
"You've got all the time you need to work things out, Sathator Hanson,"
Sather Karf told him. "It's your world, literally, so take your time.
What do you want first?"
Hanson considered it, while Nema's hand crept into his. Then he grinned.
"I guess I want to get your great granddaughter turned into a registered
and certified wife and take her on a long honeymoon," he decided. "After
what you've put me through, I need a rest."
He took her arm and started down the aisle of the council room. Behind
him, he heard Bork's chuckle and the soft laughter of Sather Karf. But
their faces were sobering by the time he reached the doorway and looked
back.
"I like him, too, grandfather," Bork was saying. "Well, it seems your
group was right, after all. Your prophecy is fulfilled. He may have a
little trouble with so many knowing his name, but he's Dave Hanson, to
whom nothing is impossible. You should have considered all the
implications of omnipotence."
Sather Karf nodded. "Perhaps. And perhaps your group was also right,
Bork. It seems that the world-egg has hatched." His eyes lifted and
centered on the doorway.
Hanson puzzled over their words briefly as he closed the door and went
out with Nema. He'd probably have to do something about his name, but
the rest of the conversation was a mystery to him. Then he dismissed
it. He could always remember it when he had more time to think about it.
* * * * *
It was many millenia and several universes later when Dave Hanson
finally remembered. By then it was no mystery, of course. And there was
no one who dared pronounce his true name.
THE END.
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