Thresholder

Perry hung in the air ten miles away from the coast of Thirlwell. He was high up, and still had direct line of sight to the city, which was good, because the range on the nanites was frankly pretty terrible. There were no radio systems to hijack, only the natural transmission power of the nanites themselves, and they had definitely not been designed to operate across such large distances.

Waiting inside the power armor was boring, and would have been impossible without the second sphere, which at least partially removed the need for most bodily functions. Perry couldn’t entirely go without food, water, or sleep, but he could go long stretches, and he was hoping that he could go until either Third Fervor contacted him or something of note happened within the city.

The nanite marble he’d given Third Fervor was a good trap. She was careful with it, of course, and put it in a safe place far from the castle, but she hadn’t noticed the fine residue that it left behind on her armor, nor the way that residue shifted and flaked off, becoming small mites that would swirl around in the throne room for weeks.

True to her word, she had told the king everything. She had described Perry as noble in a way that people of the culture hardly ever were, and had said that she would speak with him more.

Perry got to listen to Edmunt Thorne II, the Last King, for the first time.

“I believe that all men can be swayed, given time,” said the Last King. He had a high, reedy voice. “Not just to my position, but to any position. It is one of the great realizations I had in my youth, that minds are malleable, that there is nothing that a person cannot be argued into or out of, if only his interlocutor has patience and the grit of determination. If you are steadfast, and you have his ear, you can bring him to our side.”

Perry couldn’t tell if that was an idiotic take or not. It sounded idiotic at first blush. Maybe Perry could believe a version of it with more qualifiers, like “most people can be convinced of anything if they’re completely immersed in a society of people who steadfastly believe that thing”. But even that seemed like it was a step too far, and if the plan was for Third Fervor to bring Perry around, that was simply not happening.

“What should I tell him, your grace?” asked Third Fervor.

Perry gathered that they were alone, but it was difficult to tell with just the dregs of the nanites reporting back. The sound quality was notably poor, which meant that it was more difficult for Marchand to do a reconstruction of the scene. He imagined her knelt in front of the throne though, deferent, head down.

“Tell him everything, of course,” said the Last King. “Talk until your voice has gone raspy. You are a gods-given gift, a true believer. My interrogations of you have shown me that. You will not waver, whatever it is he says. This is your priority now, this man. Do whatever is in your power to move him.”

“Yes, your grace,” said Third Fervor.

“And I do mean whatever,” said the Last King.

“... yes, your grace,” said Third Fervor.

“You are not to hold back with this one,” said the Last King. “Every lure you have, every treat you can offer him, that’s how a beast is tamed. They have scrip, but lavishments are our stock and trade.”

“Yes, your grace,” said Third Fervor.

“Go now,” said the Last King. “Do me proud, my sweet little warrior.”

Yet curiously, it took another two hours for her to sit down with the nanite marble and start up a conversation. There was no indication of what she’d been doing during that gap, but she hadn’t talked to anyone, and the marble hadn’t been moved.

Perry was interested to hear what she thought could possibly say to convince him to side with the monarchs.

~~~~

You were right. I should not have lied. This is not the world I was born to. It’s not the first world I’ve visited. But it has become my home, as has every world I’ve been to in the past. I have never wanted to travel, have always wanted to stay some place, but circumstances conspire to move me on.

My home?

It was a place of rolling green hills and sparkling streams. The sun was warmer than I have felt anywhere else, kissing skin and heating the weathered stones we used for our buildings. I’ve been to many worlds, but none have had a sun that felt quite like that one. There were things about my home that others have found strange, but which I thought nothing of when I was there. There were no trees, no shrubbery, only thick mats of vegetation that could be lifted up from the ground like skinning an animal clean. It was no less varied or wonderful than anywhere else though, at least not to my eyes, and we had many names for the different mosses and tangles.

I was the daughter of a shoemaker, but when I was fifteen, I was selected to become a member of the palace guard. King Eighteenth Hermorious was a kind man, and doted on us. I was prized by him for my beauty, strength, and grace. I trained vigorously, and was educated in staff, spear, and sword. I was frequently asked to give demonstrations for the king and his guests, often sparring with the other women.

Yes, all women in the palace guard. Why?

At any rate, the world had not known war for many years, though there were rebellions and revolts from time to time. As a result, not all those among the palace guard were as diligent in their duty as I was. The others were layabouts, gossips, women who would shirk their duty and leave their post. I had been raised right by my father, but my efforts to get the others in line bought only their ridicule. It was my king who gave me my name, Third Fervor. I became part of a lineage.

The attack came without warning, in the middle of the night. The others fled, but I stood strong against the men who had come for my king. I killed four of them, and was swarmed by the others, my spear no match for them, not at that time in my life. I was beaten mercilessly as they went into the royal bedchambers and drew King Hermorious out. I had lost my vision from one too many kicks to the head, but I heard the sound when they decapitated him.

I was thrown down in the dungeon. They came down to see me every day, and intended to execute me. The damage to my vision wasn’t permanent, but I could only see faintly. The beatings were a sort of sport for them, as the day of my execution drew near. They did not like that I still spoke highly of the king, that I would not yield or break no matter what they came at me with.

The portal appeared in my cell the night before my execution. I sat there, bloody and bruised, staring at it for many hours. I knew, instinctively, that it was an escape, but I had trouble knowing my duty to my king. Was I to stay and be killed before the crowds, a symbol of the devotion they all should have felt? Or was I to go elsewhere and live another day, the better to carry on my work. I had loved my king, and was filled with grief at his murder. I felt sorrow over my failure to protect him and his family. The entire royal line had been cut down, root and stem.

After a night of contemplation, I hobbled through. I still don’t know whether it was the right choice, or whether it was simply a moment of fear and weakness.

I came through with nothing. I was nearly naked, battered and afraid.

The new world had trees, which I had never seen before, and a sun that felt cold to me. There were tall mountains in seemingly all directions, bald peaks with what I would later learn was snow, something I had never experienced or seen before but which I would soon become well-acquainted with.

It wasn’t long before I was found by bandits, but as I had nothing for them to steal, they instead decided that they would sell me into slavery. Three days passed, and at least there were no beatings. I don’t know whether they took pity on me or simply wanted me in better shape for the sale, but I was fed, given water, and even clothed in a dress I was sure was stolen.

We didn’t have slavery in the world I was from, but it instantly appealed to me. I was a hard worker and followed orders well, and knew that whoever my master proved to be, I would serve him as a proud slave. When we got to the slave market, I understood the others there as being, at best, like the women who had lazed about in their roles as palace guard, firming their stance only under the watchful eye of the palace matron or the king himself. At worst, the slaves were rebels, collared to keep them from running, bound to keep them from fighting. I stood tall, mostly healed by that point, wanting any prospective buyer to know that I had a trace of nobility to me, and that no collar would be required to keep me in line.

I was bought by a merchant who set me up to be a maid to his wife. He was moving up in the world, and I was his first slave. Their house was a fine one, but nothing compared to the palace I had served in, and he, of course, was no king. I was thorough and diligent, and learned everything I needed to do very quickly, with only a few missteps. In truth, the merchant’s wife, my new mistress, was herself a layabout, and there was hardly any work for me to do once the cooking, cleaning, and shopping was done. My mistress was only lazy, not cruel, so when I went to her begging for work, she asked me what I would prefer to do instead. Of course I replied that I would only do what she and her husband needed. After a time, and some questions on her part, she requested that I continue with the training I’d done at the palace.

It took a week before her husband discovered me in the backyard spinning a makeshift staff for the pleasure of his wife and a few of her friends.

Soon enough I was sold again and left that household. I had healed more in the intervening time, and my skin was lightening somewhat with their weak sun, which they considered to be quite important — the mistress had been pale as a sheet, and while I would never be quite that color, my natural tone became quite light. I wasn’t sad to leave the household, as inoffensive it had been, because my purchaser made his home in a castle.

I was not owned by the king, not strictly. Instead, I was purchased by a mage of some renown. No one had particularly cared for my stories at the slave market, and I believe they thought it was a sign of mental illness. I think the demonstrations made it clear that I was in no way a liar. The mage wanted to know everything he could about where I had come from, and I was happy enough to tell him.

I became his assistant, of a sort. He had some knowledge of the other worlds and their character, and hoped that I was the secret to traversing through the multiverse. He claimed that I was a good student but a poor thinker, and often lamented the fact that it had been a useless woman who had landed in his lap rather than a man. That rankled, of course. I had been a royal guard, vaunted for my skills. I didn’t show my annoyance though, and carried on, hopeful that the king would see my worth and find me a more appropriate place to serve from.

I was in the castle for two months before the other stepper arrived.

Yes. I’ve heard many terms for it, but that was the one that the wizard had used, and it’s the one I default to. The term “thresholder” is common.

The other thresholder was after the king’s vault, which stored a massive amount of magical energy. The energy was doled out for the royal wizards to work with, usually with a miser’s eye toward their projects, but the thresholder wanted nearly half of what was in the vault, and I imagine that he would have demanded the whole thing if he’d thought could get it.

He was a technologist of the sort I’ve seen several times since then. His world had been one of considerable science, and pieces of him had been replaced by machines, with something in his head that did a bit of his thinking for him. He wanted to bring knowledge to the kingdom, he said, reams of books that were valuable beyond measure, and he thought the magic energy was more than a fair trade for it. The king entertained some of these ideas, and within two weeks, the stranger had secured a position as a trusted adviser.

A month passed before the king offered to part with his stores of magical energy. He would give only a sliver, a far cry from what the other thresholder had initially wanted, but it was deemed sufficient by both parties.

He betrayed the king, of course. He had been holding back his power considerably, and disarmed a number of the guards once the vault was opened. He stole as much as he could carry, which amounted to two thirds of what had been stored, then left for the countryside, his purpose unclear.

At the king’s urging, I went after the other thresholder. I was given a spear to fight with, a magical one that was of considerable value and which the king could recall to himself. The plan was for me to find the enemy and take him using the spear, with both of us appearing in a chamber that had been prepared for us. The wizard came with me, as he considered me to be the answer to many questions about the worlds beside that one, of which he had some knowledge.

We followed the smell of magic, a curious scent in that world of cardamom and juniper, and arrived at a tall tower that had been abandoned. The thresholder was attempting a spell of some sort that greatly excited the wizard, something that was meant to transform the entire world. I had no particular interest in that, but I knew my duty, and attacked like a banshee. I only needed to score a hit in order to bring him back with me to the prepared cell.

We fought.

I’ve given these descriptions with some regularity. I’ve served many kings, and most are curious about me and what my life has been like. If it’s not the kings themselves, then it’s the people around them, advisers, scientists, wizards and the like. I’ve never enjoyed talking about the fights. Fighting, for me, is a matter of intense training and precise mechanics, but I take no thrill from it. It’s simply something my body does, and has been conditioned to do. I don’t like to describe them. I don’t find it interesting to do so.

The thresholder had a gun that let forth a beam of burning light. I moved as fast as I could and managed to dodge it, and as it swept across the wall, the wizard was sliced apart. The abandoned tower’s walls were cut through, but the gun was difficult for the thresholder to control, and I had been training with better food than had ever been available to me at the royal palace I had grown up at. I reached him and failed to strike him with the spear, and was tossed against one of the walls. I was spared the fire of his gun when a piece of the now-crumbling tower came down on his arm. He went for his spell, intending to activate it though it wasn’t ready, then I stabbed him in the stomach with my spear and sent us both back to the castle.

Whatever he’d been trying, all it ended up doing was causing the release of the stored magic. It exploded, showering the kingdom in debris and blotting out the sun for days. I didn’t see the end of it though.

The other thresholder saw the strength and power of the cell that held us, thick steel obviously meant for something else — I didn’t know what. He had lost his ray gun, and without it, he was weak. I fought him with the spear in that small space, battering him as he battered me, but with his injured arm, it wasn’t much of a struggle.

When I beat him, the portal opened. He clawed his way to it, implants leaking blue fluid, and flung himself through.

I sat and waited. The king was busy dealing with the explosion, and I was some hours in the cell, staring at the portal. I wondered where it would take me, but I didn’t want to leave my new king behind. I didn’t have any real idea what would happen to a slave whose master had died, but I supposed I would default to the king, and either he would find another wizard to study me, or take me on as a loyal guard.

It was, in the end, the king who sent me through the portal. I’m not certain why. He was angry that his magic had been stolen and wasted, fearful of the poor crops that might come with dust blotting out the sky, worried that the spell which had been aborted might have disastrous aftereffects. He was upset with me for not having the answers.

So I stepped through, and went to another world.

~~~~

It was the third or fourth time Perry had heard something about a “spell” or a “Grand Spell”, and whatever insane lens Third Fervor was seeing the world through, Perry trusted her a hell of a lot more than he trusted Xiyan.

“How many worlds have you been to?” asked Perry when that first story was done.

“Sixteen,” she replied.

“What’s your record?” asked Perry.

“Record?” she asked.

“How many times have you won and how many have you lost?” asked Perry. If she had sixteen worlds under her belt, then he had cause to be very concerned about her power level.

“I have won only five,” said Third Fervor. “But it depends on what you mean by winning.”

“You beat the other person, the portal appears,” said Perry.

“Sometimes it’s in service to a higher purpose,” said Third Fervor. “I have lost battles against other thresholders while desperately pulling them away from a battlefield. I’ve gotten trounced while watching a major offensive crumble. These aren’t, in any real sense, losses.”

“I suppose,” said Perry.

“And you?” asked Third Fervor.

“Five worlds, five wins,” said Perry.

“Impressive,” said Third Fervor. “I have been lucky not to die, though I have gone through those portals in poor condition many times.”

“Same,” said Perry. “Even if I did end up winning.”

“It was that first world where I understood the difference between winning and losing,” said Third Fervor. “I won that world. I was sent off with supplies. Yet it wasn’t a win in any true sense. I had failed my king. It was something that I vowed not to do again.”

~~~~

“Where do you think he is?” asked Kes.

“He’s Perry,” said Mette. “He goes running off and doesn’t call back in, even when he’s got a radio. He’s inconsiderate like that.”

“Well,” said Kes. “I had good reasons, most of the time.”

“Then he’s got good reasons this time,” shrugged Mette. “We’ll move the radio ship into place within the next day, then we’ll know.”

“He could be dead,” said Kes.

“It’s very possible,” said Mette. “It could be he killed all the other thresholders and the portal opened up for him, and he stepped through without a second thought.”

“Do you not think much of me?” asked Kes.

“You’re great in bed?” Mette ventured. She had been working on another piece of crude electronics, but she turned to smile at him.

“I’m serious,” said Kes. He frowned at her.

“Whoever trained you, I’d like to shake her hand,” said Mette. She let out a little laugh, even having seen his face. “Come on Perry, is anything I’m saying untrue?”

“I’m considerate,” said Kes.

“Well, no,” said Mette. She turned back to face him. “You left Esperide behind, and you had always planned to do so.”

Kes pointed at her. “So did you.”

“Do you think that I think that I’m considerate?” asked Mette. “No, I’m a rat bastard. I’m far, far worse than you. They were my people and I was one of their leaders, and I abandoned them after having a big fight about it. You can at least say that you were always an outsider, always a thresholder, somehow destined to move on, even though we know that’s not true. You were with us two years, long enough to learn our ways, to become one of us, and you had a pair bond with a wonderful woman — Perry, I am a worse person than you. I acknowledge and accept that.”

“Kes,” said Kes. “Perry is the other guy.”

She waved a hand. “You know what I mean.”

“So you think he’s run off,” said Kes.

“No, I think he’s just otherwise occupied and not checking in,” said Mette.

“I could try drawing the sword to me,” said Kes. He waved his hand in the air, but didn’t actually try to call it. “He’s probably using it.”

“Probably,” said Mette.

“Is this about the teeth?” asked Kes. “Is that why you think I’m a shit?”

Mette turned around to face him. “You know I like you, right?”

“I do,” said Kes, hesitant. “Me, or him?”

“Both,” said Mette. “You’ve got your flaws, and yes, one of those flaws is that you might strand me on this world by going through a portal.”

“You’re not worried about that?” asked Kes. “Because I’m worried about that.”

“It’s a fine world,” said Mette. “I was hoping for more, and without Marchand we won’t be able to progress as much as I’d like, but if I were stranded here, at least I would have you.”

Kes nodded. In that light, he found himself very grateful for her presence. She’d been very kind to him, he thought, and in the counterfactual world where he’d been cloned and then left to his own devices, he didn’t think that he’d have handled it nearly so well.

“Perry likes to do things on his own,” said Mette. “Part of that is because he’s very strong, and part of it is that he enjoys autonomy more than most people.”

“Most people … who are part of a collectivist moving city that requires a strong sense of community and who have all known each other and their purpose from birth?” asked Kes.

“I have my biases,” said Mette with a shrug. “I have only been to two worlds so far. But I’ve read a lot of the Gratbook, even some of the things that weren’t science related, and I made myself a student of you and your ways. We spent a lot of time together. I listened to a lot of your stories, both about yourself, and the world you came from. You hated the feeling of being dragged along by outside events. So you ended up liking this feeling of being alone, a powerful agent of change, the man who will save the world all on his lonesome. You gave us many gifts, but always kept a few back for yourself, and handing off information to engineers was never really your thing. Probably Perry is out there being independent and discarding the notion that he should check in.”

Kes considered this. “He’s probably just busy.”

“Probably,” nodded Mette.

~~~~

Third Fervor did, in fact, talk until her voice was raspy. She made it through eight of the sixteen worlds.

Her second world had been an ice planet, beset by a perpetual magic winter. It hadn’t always been that way, and in fact, she suspected that it was the result of some kind of world-spanning magic spell like the one the other thresholder might have been trying to set up. Perry didn’t think she had much reason to think that, but he didn’t press her on the logic all that much. Logic didn’t seem to be a strong suit.

On the ice planet there was a kingdom, as there was in almost all of Third Fervor’s stories. They were dwarves, not humans, and lived in the deepest caves of the tallest mountains, entirely dependent on lightstones that were mined up from the ground and placed into large chambers where managed crops were grown in nightsoil. Third Fervor pledged herself to the dwarf king, and from her description, became something between an entertainer and royal guard. She was prized for her stories of two different worlds, and often entertained the dwarf king and his people.

Third Fervor’s stories seemed to come in two general varieties. The ice world was the first sort, where Third Fervor fell in with some kind of king, entered his service or the service of people around him, and raised herself up through diligence, loyalty, and superpowers. After a certain amount of time had passed, the other thresholder would show up, either at the head of an opposing army, as a wormy adviser, or as an assassin. It seemed to be the nature of monarchies that everyone was at all times trying to get the favor and confidence of the king, and there were a thousand avenues for a thresholder to attempt.

In the other variety of stories, there was no monarchy as such, only monarchists, usually attempting to restore the former glory of their chosen king. These were kings in exile, kings in disgrace, kings without kingdoms and often without friends. In these stories, Third Fervor was the single best gift any king could ever ask for, a crusader of unparalleled power. It put her in the position of being a part of a small, ragtag group of rebels against the current world order, which she seemed to have no objection to.

The ice planet was the first sort of story, and it wasn’t long before raiders from the surface came descending down into the dwarven cave complex to steal everything of worth. They were human, ‘snow-walkers’, covered in furs and armed with stolen weapons, led by a woman with a magical ring unknown to the dwarves. Third Fervor had not, at that point, fully understood what a thresholder was, but the attacker didn’t seem to know either.

They fought each other three times, once in the dwarven city, a second time in the raider camp, and a third time on a frozen lake. Third Fervor had been clubbed and beaten, and woke up to frostbite and a portal in front of her, with no memory of how the fight had actually ended. She had debated on whether to go through, but she was starting to have some inkling that the portals appeared because she was needed somehow. The dwarf king had not fully accepted her pledge, and in fact, being human, couldn’t be a permanent fixture of their society.

Third Fervor stories ended in different ways. She always belabored the leaving, as it was inevitably an abdication of what she felt was her duty. Sometimes she went through with an injury, knowing that she wouldn’t live without whatever was on the other side of the portal. Other times she was sent through by the command of whatever king she was working under. Once she had been forced through by an outside party, which Perry had only heard of a single time before, with Cosme.

The snow world had been followed by a water world with thousand foot waves, and after that was a world where Third Fervor was a good three feet taller than anyone else. She lavished quite a bit of description on the kingdoms and their kings, but less on the magics she had seen. Perry didn’t know whether that was because she wanted to hide her powers from him or if she simply didn’t care that much.

Her fifth world had been the first that Perry would have considered futuristic, and he couldn’t tell whether it came off like a space opera because of her medieval world of origin, or because they had a peculiar tech level. There she served a space king, which was apparently not a translation error, and traveled to a number of different planets in his service as an enforcer before running up against another thresholder who was cynically manipulating a rebellion.

In the sixth world, she finally ran into another monarchist. The two of them were, so far as Perry could tell, mirrors of one another. The kingdoms were all immensely tall towers with buildings that orbited around them, and wastelands of different flavors between them.

“I was called to serve my king, and she was called to serve hers,” said Third Fervor. “I wish that it could always be that way. We fought on battlefields, empowered by our kings, scything through the footsoldiers and meeting in clashes against each other. We fought eighteen times, and spoke often when the war was paused. We believed in duty to our kings.”

“And in the end?” asked Perry.

“She beat me,” replied Third Fervor. “She said a prayer for me before she walked into the portal, and I dragged my way through, following after. I hope we meet again someday.”

She sounded wistful, and Perry wondered whether there had been anything else going on between them, or only if it was a meeting of two people who felt like they understood each other. If there was one thing that was lacking in Third Fervor’s stories, it was any hint of sex or romance, and even when that sometimes felt like the implication of her arrangements with her kings, that was never stated outright. They were always kings, Perry noted, never queens.

The one exception was the seventh world, where it seemed that the king had genuinely loved her, though if she had felt anything but duty and loyalty in return, she didn’t say anything about it. He was the one who had gifted her the armor she now wore, which she claimed was as strong as her resolve. It was an interesting detail that Perry filed away for later, and very much did seem to be literal, at least as she told it. That meant that all he needed to do was break her resolve, and the armor would rip like wet paper. She had preferred the metal skin of armor to the long strips of tied-together cloth they wore in that world. She had left the palace often, moving through a landscape that shifted and warped around her, never the same twice, but always with the landmarks in the same general vicinity.

That was another of the themes of her stories: she was a solitary creature. Per her telling, this was never by choice, but always because of the actions of others, and sometimes their failings. She was quick to criticize others for their lack of duty, loyalty, or faith, and Perry thought that she was probably pretty insufferable if she was leaking even half of those thoughts. She thought herself better than others, but not in a boastful way — she thought that everyone should be on her level, and was disappointed that they weren’t. It was a hectoring sort of superiority.

“I’ve talked so long,” said Third Fervor, when she had finished the story of her eighth world, where a foot-thick layer of honey-like sap coated most of the countryside and could be hardened into tools and buildings with special salves. It had been a rare non-human world, with insectile people. “What of you?”

“Me?” asked Perry. “You want to know the worlds I’ve been to?”

“Yes,” she said. He could hear how raw her throat was. She had been putting effort into talking to him, and had become less coherent as she’d gone on. “It feels as though the monarchies are under attack through the multiverse, and I am the only one fighting in their name. But I know that must not be true. I’m sent where I’m needed, and perhaps … perhaps the places I’m needed are those where the situation is most dire.”

“Selection bias,” said Perry. “Maybe.”

“You don’t serve a king now,” said Third Fervor. “Have you, in the past?”

“I have,” said Perry. “In the kingdom of Seraphinus I was mistaken for a knight, and in being mistaken for one, that was what I became. I fought against the forces that beset the kingdom and learned under the instruction of the king’s most wise wizard. And when I left, it was with a heavy heart. I had killed the other thresholder, who had come to the court as a knight and later led the forces of evil.”

“You don’t object to kings,” said Third Fervor.

“No,” Perry lied. “A king who is good for his people, who is wise and strong, that’s a king I could bend the knee for.” He paused for only a bit, weighing how gullible she was, how deep her naivete ran. “Of all the men you’ve served, how does the Last King stand up?” He said it like he was interested.

“Every king has his own sort of nobility,” said Third Fervor. “Some are good men, and others are not. Sometimes what the kingdom needs is a bad man. Edmunt Thorne II did not want the title of Last King. He wanted to be a reformer, part of a new order, marrying the best of monarchism with a deep understanding of the libraries and how they should work. He has his oddities, but most men do.”

“I’d like to speak with him some day,” said Perry. He held his breath for a moment, hoping that wasn’t too much. Likely she would offer to use the marble, but that would let Perry get nanites all over the king, which would mean better surveillance and possibly let him know when Fenilor made his move.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Third Fervor. “He’s interested in meeting with you as well.”

Perry smiled at that. It was more than he could have hoped for.