Advanced Theories of Electromagicism

Advanced Theories of Electromagicism

Part I: Action at a Distance

Chapter 1

His childhood began in the same way it would end: wreathed in fire and shadowed by the blood of the innocent.

Yes, Your Majesty, innocent. And with all due respect, I find your pretense of shock insulting. You knew what to expect – why else are we alone while I read this, with even your personal guard banished downstairs? Once I am finished, this history will be yours to edit and falsify as you choose.

I agreed to record this history as my last service to you, but my sole allegiance now is to the truth. Yes, Your Majesty, it is right that you should laugh. I have no doubt that I shall pay for my sins in that regard, and in many others. But I’ve learned my lesson – I’ve given up trying to control events. My only purpose here is to record the truth, and I’ll tell you right now that it won’t reflect well on any of us.

That said, my little introduction is a bit tedious, even pretentious. With your leave, I will skip to the start of the story proper.

The sun was just falling below the horizon as Juana picked her way down the long slope to the beach. She crossed the old highway, passing a clutch of children digging with their fingers for pieces of ancient asphalt, covered in centuries of dirt and sand. So intent on their work were the budding miners that not one looked up to acknowledge the village elder.

Several of the bonfires were already going strong; she saw Elder Caitlin chanting over a small unlit tepee of kindling. Suddenly, a blue spark flared up in the middle of the stick pile, a flame that quickly turned to red and gold as the dry wood caught. Caitlin fell back heavily on to the sand; her two sons ran over to help her up, but she waved them off and slowly pulled herself up to a sitting position. The other men stoked the fire with split oak logs. We may miss this wood come February, Juana thought, but I’ll gladly trade some shivering then for a well-earned celebration tonight. Besides, a lot can happen in a season. She shook her head, resolving to be cheerful tonight of all nights, and turned her gaze toward the ruckus coming from the water.

Juana Flores de Centinela, an Elder of the village of Santa Monica at the time. Why her? Because she was central to the events of that evening, because she’s dead of course, and because I trust her memories more than most of the others – she possessed an admirable clarity of thought. You remember our agreement, Your Majesty: I won’t presume to guess at the perspective of those still living, and I won’t “interview” them, either. This is, in more ways than one, a history written by the dead. Now, if it please Your Majesty, I would like to continue with a minimum of interruption, lest we give Scheherazade a run for her money. Ask your son, he’ll explain.

Some of the older boys, stripped to their shorts, were braving the frigid surf, howling and hooting like a pack of wolves, showing off for a gaggle of giggling girls standing just out of reach of the breaking waves that grasped at their toes. Juana shivered, partly in sympathy with the boys, but mostly because the sun was now down and the chill wind off the water was picking up. She pulled her shawl around her more tightly and shuffled across the sand toward the latest bonfire, intercepting Caitlin, who had made her way to her feet with the help of her aluminum crutch, a family relic that had been purely decorative until last year.

“A good night for the Feast,” Juana said, glancing up at the clear sky.

“Yes, no fog at all,” replied Caitlin between gasps for breath. Her skin, grown gray and leathery over the years from the application of her craft, looked to Juana like it would crack apart at any moment. Caitlin wiped beads of sweat from her scabrous forehead and looked over the water to the west. “You can see the fires lighting up all the way out to Point Dume. Speaking of which, go get where it’s warm. You’re shivering. I think I saw Cesar and the baby down there near the cooking pits.” She gestured southward down the beach, where Juana could just make out the smoke rising against the rapidly darkening sky.

“Ok, thanks, I’ll head that way. Come with me and take a break. You’re exhausted, dear. We’re not as young as we used to be, you know.” Juana smiled, a little too widely, at her old friend, and blinked moisture from her eyes.

“Oh, I’ve just got two more fires to start, from the looks of it,” said Caitlin, kindly pretending not to notice Juana’s lapse. “The boys are very sweet, they keep offering to light the last of them with brands from the ones I’ve already done. But you know me, I like to stick to the traditions. Just between us, though, I’ll be glad when little Sean gets old enough to be trusted with witchfire.” She turned then, took a deep breath, and moved off.

As Juana approached the cooking pits, the odors grew stronger and more enticing. The smell of roasting pig brought a smile to her eyes as she thought of her old friend Bart Huber, so proud to have his sow chosen for tonight’s feast. Juana had seen him yesterday, slinking down her street, casting furtive glances about him as if the Mayor himself were chasing him. “I just can’t do it, Elder,” he told her through his tears. “Not my Snuffles. She never done nothing to nobody; she’s the sweetest little pig you ever saw. She don’t deserve it and I won’t do it!” Apparently, Bart had spent the last several days trying to teach Snuffles to talk, since eating elevated animals was strictly taboo. Alas, Snuffles was not a fast learner. Looking over at the pits now, Juana saw no sign of Bart. Smiling to herself, she wondered whether it was Snuffles she was smelling and if so, who had done the deed in the end.

She could see Cesar now; he was near the last of the bonfires, clearing a safe place in the sand for the baby to play. Javair wasn’t crawling yet, so there wasn’t much concern of him wandering off. Juana came up quietly behind the baby and snatched him up into her arms. He squealed and kicked with glee as she tickled his belly and cooed at him.

“Hola, mama!” said Cesar, bending over to kiss the top of Juana’s head. “Can you get him in his coat; it’s over there in Camila’s bag. She’s helping out with the food.”

“With pleasure,” Juana laughed, her voice nasal because of the two tiny fingers exploring her nostrils. She sat down by the bonfire and searched through her daughter-in-law’s sack for Javair’s warm things.

Several of the smaller children were now sitting nearby, listening to Elder Shen spin one of his tales of the old days. Shen was a wonderful raconteur, not least because he truly seemed to believe that every word of the stories was true. Juana, yanking from the sack the tiny blue woolen coat she had made for Javair in the summer, listened in while she wrestled the garment onto the baby.

“Long ago,” Shen told his already-rapt audience, “back before the Days of Electric, this land was a paradise. The grass was green all year round, and the river flowed all the time, not just in the winter. But then the Electric men came and all they saw was a place to build. They covered up the land, paved every inch of it over with their asphalt and their concrete. They even filled in the river with concrete. Don’t believe me? Go down there sometime – you can dig it up just like you were digging up the old road earlier. They covered the land and then they built their homes and their cars and their towers and temples, and they lived here without ever seeing brown earth or green plants.”

“How could they live like that, Daddo? What did they eat?” demanded little Jamelia from her place of honor on Shen’s lap.

"Ah, good question, Jamelia,” nodded Shen approvingly. “Well, you may not believe it, but back in those days, people didn’t need to grow vegetables or raise animals like we do. They could make anything they wanted with their Electric and their Gas. Every night, they fashioned the most delicious feasts, with exotic meats like cow and mastodon, and ancient wines and really really stinky cheeses, all from Electric and Gas. And they lived like that for a long time.

“But the Earth gods were not pleased. ‘The humans do not show respect. They suffocate our land with their tar and their gravel. This we cannot allow.’” Shen was really hamming it up now, dropping his voice two octaves and stabbing his finger at his audience as if they were the offending humans. The children squealed with a mixture of fear and glee; some of them edged away from the storyteller, at least partly to avoid losing an eye.

“The Earth gods resolved to destroy the workings of the Electric men. And so they sent the quakes. They shook the land so mightily that the Electric men’s houses and towers collapsed. The quakes were so powerful that they even tore up the asphalt and the concrete, breaking it into tiny pieces.”

Jamelia tugged on Shen’s beard. “Were the quakes like the one we had yesterday?”

Shen laughed. “Oh no, little one. They were much bigger. Standing in one of those would be like trying to stand out there in the waves with Odell and those other ridiculous boys.” He looked out at the teenagers, the bravest and most foolish of whom were still splashing about in the surf. Jamelia’s brother Odell wasn’t there, though: he’d gotten out several minutes before, taking the attention of most of the female audience with him.
Turning back to his own charges, Shen continued. “The Earth gods aren’t so angry anymore, but the quakes won’t stop completely until we remove everything that the Electric men left behind. Now, after the quakes…”

“Pig’s on!” came a shout from the cooking pits. Sure enough, the Rollins boys were carrying the animal, still on its spit, to the serving tables. Juana gasped as the young men, who were not large, stumbled under the weight of the porker, which was not small. If my dinner’s covered with sand, she thought, cringing as Elmer Rollins slipped and fell heavily to one knee, I’ll get Caitlin to strike those good-for-nothing boys bald. Somehow, though, the pig completed the journey without touching the beach. A general cheer went up from the crowd, and the villagers, including most of Shen’s charges, started running for the serving area.

Unwilling to leave his story unfinished, Shen called to the remaining children, “After the quakes, the men started to rebuild, so the Earth gods took away their Gas and the Spirit gods took away their Electric, and the Electric men all died and the land lay in ruins and then we came and built a village and roasted a pig. The End.” That last was shouted across the sand as even little Jamelia had finally mutinied and leapt from his lap to chase after her peers.

Shen fell back on his blanket, chuckling. “Well, you can’t expect even the best of the old stories to compete with a Feast.”

“I’m impressed you held them so long,” Juana said as she bounced little Javair on her knee.

“Elder Shen?” came a small voice from just behind Juana. Surprised, she turned around to see Kate Huber, Bart’s daughter, sitting on the sand, eyes intent on Shen. Kate was nearly 19, a lovely girl with long, surprisingly fair hair offsetting her dark features. “May I ask you something?” she shyly continued.

Shen grumbled, “Little one, you know all my stories by heart; what question could you possibly have that you haven’t asked me a hundred times already? I’m a hungry man and I’m worried that that pig might run out.” He gave Juana a slight wink, then, betraying his affection for this girl.

“I was just wondering,” Kate pressed on, blushing but not willing to concede. “What happened to the Electric, really? Is it still out there, do you think, and we’ve just forgotten how to find it? Is it stronger than magic, well it must be, right? Because why would the Electric men have bothered with it otherwise? Or is it gone? Did the Electric men use it all up, or destroy it all? Or maybe they—“

“Child, stop!” Shen barked out. “You’re going to be the death of me, I just know it! You said one question – that was, what, six? And you already know the answers. All the answers are the same. Nobody knows. The Electric men are gone and they took their Electric with them. We don’t know how, we don’t know why, we don’t know if it’s ever coming back.” He waved dismissively at Kate. “What do you care, anyway? You have everything you need right here. You live in a wonderful village, you have good food to eat and handsome boys who all want to court you, that cursed Mayor leaves us alone, …”

“Shen!” Juana hissed at him. He stopped, looked around, and with a nervous laugh, he turned toward the Feast tables. Juana watched Kate thoughtfully as the girl hurried after him. It was true that Kate drew more than her share of attention from the young men of the village, but she seemed oblivious to that fact. When she wasn’t helping her father on the Huber’s small farm, she was usually off exploring the beaches alone or bothering one Elder or another with questions about the outside world. Juana knew that Kate could read and suspected there wasn’t a book in the village that hadn’t found its way into her hands: Juana’s own treasured library (six ancient printed storybooks and a few more recent hand-copied folios on weaving) had been plundered by the girl more than once.

Juana held the baby up to her face. “That is one funny girl,” she told him, finishing with an emphatic nod of her head. Javair laughed, grabbed her ears and gave them a good yank. Juana yelped in pretend pain and stood up. “Your grammy is going to get some food now, so you get to play in the sand.” She carried the baby over to the spot in the sand his father had cleared and plopped him down in the middle. As she walked off, he began wildly waving his ams, flinging sand in every direction.

Juana was one of the last to get her food. As she settled herself down, her plate piled high with roast pork, potatoes, corn and squash, she heard Elder Hobart clearing his throat through his speaking trumpet, the ancient artifact that he used on any occasion when it was even vaguely appropriate. He was standing upwind, near the water, and attempting to be heard over the crashing surf and crackling fires. “Welcome one and all,” he shouted, “to this year’s Harvest Festival! I daresay we deserve this celebration. It’s been a great year for our little village of Santa Monica!” He paused expectantly. After a few seconds, he was rewarded with a smattering of applause and he went on. “Santa Monica is bigger and better than ever before. This last year alone, we cleared over 500 new acres of land for farming and homes! We welcomed many new citizens to our little community. And we had the most bountiful harvest in anyone’s memory!”

“Not mine!” shouted Elder Shen. “Back when I was just a boy—“ he began, only to be shushed by his neighbors.

“But none of this might have been possible,” Hobart continued, ignoring the interruption, “without the bravery of one of Santa Monica’s own. Stand up, Odell, where are you? Ah, there you are – go on, get up. Ladies and gentlemen, let us raise a glass to the Hero of Santa Monica, the Dragonslayer himself, Odell Jackson!”

This announcement managed to pull the crowd’s attention from their plates, and a huge roar of applause arose, punctuated by squealing from the girls. Odell stood up and gave an embarrassed wave. He tried to sit right back down again, but his neighbors prodded him back to his feet. Odell was a tall, muscular lad, very dark, the best athlete in the community. And now he was a hero, ever since that day in July when he’d led the Elders down to the old pier and showed them the carcass of the dragon that had terrorized the village for months. He certainly looked the part now, standing there with the firelight haloing his body in the darkness.

Juana, applauding with the rest, glanced over at Kate and was surprised to see her sitting quite still, watching Odell with one eyebrow cocked and a bemused expression on her face. A moment later, Odell’s eyes seemed to alight on Kate’s as well, and he briefly held his arm out toward her. Kate shook her head at him slightly and he shrugged and dropped his arm. Kate Huber and Odell Jackson? thought Juana. Well, there’s a pairing I never would have imagined. Or is something else going on?

Finally, the cheers for Odell subsided and he was allowed to sit down unmolested. Elder Hobart wasn’t quite done yet, though. “I’d like to make just one more toast, and then I’ll let you all get back to the business of Feasting. Citizens of Santa Monica, let us toast His Honor, our Lord Mayor…” A smattering of boos arose from the assembled. Hobart waved them down and continued, “…who has not set foot on the West Side in a full year now. May he keep up the good work!” This time, the crowd responded with laughter and cheers and mocking shouts of “Hear, hear!”

Idiots, Juana thought, taking out her annoyance by stabbing her knife into her slice of poor Snuffles. Are they trying to bring his wrath down on us? She looked around and spotted the Rollins brothers, who were huddled together, whispering, at the edge of the group.

“All right, everyone, please enjoy the Feast,” Elder Hobart was finishing. “And remember not to leave early, because we’ll have, my Gods, what is that!?” Juana saw it at the same moment, a flickering at the corner of her eye. Just a few meters from where she was sitting, fire suddenly erupted from the sand, ten-foot high bright emerald flames reaching for the sky. Juana was entranced by the beauty of the new green bonfire for a moment, until a thought forced itself from the back of her mind: that’s where we put the baby.

She leapt to her feet, faster than she would have thought possible a few moments before. “Javair!” she shouted as she ran toward the spot, dimly aware of others doing the same thing. She could see him now, right in the middle of the furious flames. There was no way he could survive this, but Juana steeled herself to jump into the blaze anyway. She was beaten to it, however. A form streaked by her from the left and, without the slightest hesitation, plunged into the green fire, screaming “My baby!” Camila scooped up her son and her momentum carried them both out the other side, where they rolled together on the sand until their clothes stopped burning.

Cesar was on them in an instant, tears streaming down his face as he rolled his wife around so he could see her face. Juana was close enough to them to see that Camila’s hair and eyebrows were singed, and her clothes had been reduced to smoldering tatters. “It’s ok, my baby, it’s ok, we’re ok,” she mumbled to little Javair, still clutched in her grip. Cesar took her hands with his and gently separated her arms. He picked up the baby and turned him around. The woolen coat was blackened and smoking. Juana turned her head away and closed her eyes tight. Then she heard the giggling.

Opening her eyes again, amazed to hear the baby’s voice, Juana saw Cesar inspecting the child. At first, he just stared at Javair’s face; then he began turning his son every which way, trying in vain to find any sign of harm. Javair’s perfect health didn’t calm Cesar, however: the look of fear on his face slowly hardened into anger. Eventually, he held the baby close and scanned the crowd until he found the face he was seeking.

Enraged, Cesar shouted, “Caitlin! What in hell did you do? Is this some kind of sick joke?” He was clenching and unclenching his fists, and the veins in his neck were threatening to burst at any moment.

Apparently oblivious to the danger she was in, Caitlin pushed her way through the crowd. “I had nothing to do with this, Cesar. You know I don’t have that kind of power. I don’t think even the Mayor could have done that, not without harming the child. This is something new.” She stepped right up to Cesar and took a long look at the baby cooing in his arms. “I daresay Javair is something new,” she added, shaking her head.

Cesar, still shaking with fear and rage, looked back and forth between Caitlin and Javair. A look of resolve came over his face, and he carefully handed the baby to Caitlin. He strode purposefully to his wife, still lying in the sand, sobbing. His fist opened and he smacked her across the face, so hard that she was rolled over onto her stomach, the sand stifling her shocked scream. “Who was it?!” he shouted at her, bent down so his face was inches from the back of her head. “Was it the Mayor himself? Was it his brother, that ingrate with the scar? It was him, wasn’t it, that time you went to the city last year for spices, you said you saw him. Saw him, ha! Tell me the truth, you…you…”

It was Juana’s turn to act. She pushed Cesar off of Camila with all her might and said, “You stupid fool, Cesar! Look at that boy! He’s the spitting image of you when you were a baby. He looks nothing like the Mayor, his brother, or anyone in that whole stinking family!”

Cesar stared blankly at his mother for a moment, and awareness seemed to return to his eyes. He crawled back over toward Camila, but several villagers stepped in between them, blocking his way. He called to her, tears streaming down his face. “My darling, I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot. Please forgive me. I know you’d never –

“He’s ours, Camila. I know that. He’s our son.”

Juana fell to the sand and quietly began to cry. Yes, he’s yours, my boy, she thought, despairing. But not for long.