away, knowing work was done for the day, and looking forward to whatever Blind Seer and Rascal might have hunted up for her dinner. She was tired of rabbit. Maybe they would have taken a deer.
“MAGIC.” “LIGHT.” Those words hadn’t changed too much over time. One verb gave Plik a great deal of trouble. It turned out to be an archaic form of “reflect,” little in use these days.
The minimalist verse style had been popular over a hundred years before Divine Retribution had sent the Old World rulers to whatever judgment the deities had ordained. Rather than making Plik’s task easier, it made it less so, for even when Plik felt fairly certain he had all the words correctly translated, meaning still escaped him.
Plik finished his translation that night when meals had been eaten and even the three wolves were settled near the fire—though all three sat with their backs to the flame lest their night vision be spoiled. Truth had no such qualms. The jaguar cuddled so close that the occasional spark guttered out in her fur.
“So,” Firekeeper said after a long silence, “what do you have?”
“Have?” Plik replied blankly.
“You haven’t been writing for some time, but your eyes go up and down over the page. What do you have there that is so fascinating?”
Plik chuckled. He. felt a ridiculous urge to toss the paper in the fire rather than subject his efforts to that coolly assessing mind, but he knew he was being foolish.
“I think I know what it says,” he replied, “or rather, I have meanings for all the words, but I’m not sure in the least what it means.”
“Read it,” Firekeeper said, her tone midway between a suggestion and an order.
Plik couldn’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t, so he complied.
Magic Light
Silver Shine
Reflect
Back, then back, then back, then back
Cascading concourse
Bright shower
Foaming tumult
Carrying detritus
Open way
“Magic light?” Firekeeper said. “Reflecting? If reflecting magic light is what we need, then we must find some other way through. I wonder if we can cut silver?”
“It depends on how thick it is,” Powerful Tenderness said automatically, “and how pure. Pure silver is fairly soft as metals go. But it doesn’t follow that we don’t have magic light. Some of the light panels in the tower on Center Island still work. I suppose that is magic light.”
“But would those panels work if taken from the tower?” Plik objected. “Our experiments have shown otherwise. I don’t think that could be the answer.”
“Why didn’t whoever wrote that just say what needed to be done?” whined Rascal.
“Why bury a door underground?” Blind Seer retorted. “There are times I think you might as well be Cousin-kind for all you use your mind. Whoever wrote those words didn’t want them to be easy to understand, just as they didn’t want that door to be easy to find. I know little of human buildings, but I recall certain things Firekeeper and I saw in New Kelvin. I am sure that even when the building here was standing—before it was flattened to the ground—this door was hidden.”
Plik nodded vigorously. “That idea goes well with what little I have been able to understand from the fragments of writing on the building stone. Many of the words seem to be warnings or cautions. This was not a place where the common resident would have been welcome.”
“So,” Powerful Tenderness said, and Plik worried that the huge creature was angry that his idea had been so quickly dismissed. “If ‘magic light’ is not to be found in the panels at the towers, where do we find it?”
“Or how do we cut the silver?” Firekeeper muttered, her words probably inaudible to any but Blind Seer, next to whom she sat, and to Plik, whose hearing was unexpectedly good given that his ears were rather small and furry.
Plik ignored the wolf-woman—after all, she hadn’t been addressing him. “I’ve been thinking about the
“MAGIC.” “LIGHT.” Those words hadn’t changed too much over time. One verb gave Plik a great deal of trouble. It turned out to be an archaic form of “reflect,” little in use these days.
The minimalist verse style had been popular over a hundred years before Divine Retribution had sent the Old World rulers to whatever judgment the deities had ordained. Rather than making Plik’s task easier, it made it less so, for even when Plik felt fairly certain he had all the words correctly translated, meaning still escaped him.
Plik finished his translation that night when meals had been eaten and even the three wolves were settled near the fire—though all three sat with their backs to the flame lest their night vision be spoiled. Truth had no such qualms. The jaguar cuddled so close that the occasional spark guttered out in her fur.
“So,” Firekeeper said after a long silence, “what do you have?”
“Have?” Plik replied blankly.
“You haven’t been writing for some time, but your eyes go up and down over the page. What do you have there that is so fascinating?”
Plik chuckled. He. felt a ridiculous urge to toss the paper in the fire rather than subject his efforts to that coolly assessing mind, but he knew he was being foolish.
“I think I know what it says,” he replied, “or rather, I have meanings for all the words, but I’m not sure in the least what it means.”
“Read it,” Firekeeper said, her tone midway between a suggestion and an order.
Plik couldn’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t, so he complied.
Magic Light
Silver Shine
Reflect
Back, then back, then back, then back
Cascading concourse
Bright shower
Foaming tumult
Carrying detritus
Open way
“Magic light?” Firekeeper said. “Reflecting? If reflecting magic light is what we need, then we must find some other way through. I wonder if we can cut silver?”
“It depends on how thick it is,” Powerful Tenderness said automatically, “and how pure. Pure silver is fairly soft as metals go. But it doesn’t follow that we don’t have magic light. Some of the light panels in the tower on Center Island still work. I suppose that is magic light.”
“But would those panels work if taken from the tower?” Plik objected. “Our experiments have shown otherwise. I don’t think that could be the answer.”
“Why didn’t whoever wrote that just say what needed to be done?” whined Rascal.
“Why bury a door underground?” Blind Seer retorted. “There are times I think you might as well be Cousin-kind for all you use your mind. Whoever wrote those words didn’t want them to be easy to understand, just as they didn’t want that door to be easy to find. I know little of human buildings, but I recall certain things Firekeeper and I saw in New Kelvin. I am sure that even when the building here was standing—before it was flattened to the ground—this door was hidden.”
Plik nodded vigorously. “That idea goes well with what little I have been able to understand from the fragments of writing on the building stone. Many of the words seem to be warnings or cautions. This was not a place where the common resident would have been welcome.”
“So,” Powerful Tenderness said, and Plik worried that the huge creature was angry that his idea had been so quickly dismissed. “If ‘magic light’ is not to be found in the panels at the towers, where do we find it?”
“Or how do we cut the silver?” Firekeeper muttered, her words probably inaudible to any but Blind Seer, next to whom she sat, and to Plik, whose hearing was unexpectedly good given that his ears were rather small and furry.
Plik ignored the wolf-woman—after all, she hadn’t been addressing him. “I’ve been thinking about the
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