Origins

Chapter 4 of Ardra

Picard had never been so disoriented. This went way beyond being in a transporter beam. He watched the dizzying onrush of energy rings in the wormhole, twists and turns feeling like a slide down a playground chute. Down was the best analogy; he felt increasingly young, until he no longer existed except as a detached intellect. The absence of sound was a blessing that spared him sensory overload. Still, he forced his eyes to stay open, wanting to get a first glimpse of their destination. Had it been minutes or centuries? He struggled to keep his sanity.

A medieval style complex resolved out of the mist. A hazy yellow sun imbued the hilltop with a gold luminescence.

"This is Montfort Abbey," said a voice in his head. "It's a center of magic study. This world, you see, is one where that is possible for those gifted with the requisite brain structure."

They materialized in a busy kitchen, where maids scurried about their duties. Picard and Ardra stood off to one side in a cacophony of voices, the clatter of pots and pans. Savory aromas arose from the table where produce was being chopped. The maids were beaded with perspiration, but Picard didn't feel either hot or cold.

"Pay no mind to the guttural tongue," Ardra said. "It's called Khotish, and this is Khot, city of thieves. These people can't see or hear us. Come, there's one I'd like you to meet."

Picard could see how these environs had meaning for Ardra, and resolved not to rush her through it. He was startled when a maid passed through him from behind. They arrived at the steamy scullery, the station assigned to those lowest in the pecking order.

Ardra gazed wistfully at a young maid with a cascade of wavy black hair spilling from her cap. This was the only one diligently going about her work, yet her mind seemed miles away.

"Her name is Sisra," Ardra said. She held Picard's gaze expectantly.

He found he could walk through the counter for a better look. If he had to compare Sisra to Earth cultures, he'd place her features as Etruscan, with a hint of ancient Greek lineage that imparted a faint oriental mystique to the eyes. Comely, but no beauty. A light went off for him. "You?" Ardra nodded. "Since the Ventax matter is settled, why not retain your original name and appearance?"

"I could never do that to Sisra. She was such an innocent girl for all of her headstrong notions. Let's move forward a little, and witness her path to ultimate power."

They now stood at the end of a long pier, which jutted out over a forested valley. From its foggy depths, some creature made a sound like a thumb sliding along a comb's teeth. Picard looked back toward the castle. Thanks to this guard shed, no one there could see Sisra leaning cross-legged against it, absorbed in a book. He squatted for a better look at the diagrams.

"It's a worn-out magic primer," Ardra explained. "I found it discarded. It was a flogging offense to have it. Sisra is doing acolyte exercises, designed to prepare students for casting their first spells. That was a simple one I easily mastered, but not so the others."

"What's the goal?" Picard asked, unable to read the Khotish.

"She's mentally moving rings from one post to another, in reverse order. That prepares you to search your mind for the correct casting sequence. Others involve lucid state and telekinesis, both of which require the mind link between hemispheres of the brain."

"And Sisra doesn't have it."

"No one will ever know," Ardra said. "When the assessors told her she had no link, she replied, with some heat, that she would grow one. Did she do so, or was a different, superior structure already there?" Sisra leaned back, staring dreamily across the valley. "I was imagining myself as Team Hathor's wizardress. I followed their missions religiously. The team had to rely on temporary wizards due to a shortage."

Picard stood. "I surmise they were about to acquire one."

"In a roundabout way. Let's move forward to what a writer would call the 'inciting incident'."

The contrast was unsettling. Patrons crowded among tables set beneath massive castle foundations. A spiked fence separated this boisterous stretch from a much larger arena, apparently the domain of the elite. Tall bronze doors, tended by cowled officials and camp guards, dominated the eastern side beneath a wraparound balcony overhead.

Ardra looked around in fond reverie, having to speak above the din. "This is called the 'Commons', a public area where people could get close to their respective champions. Kitchen maids competed for assignments here because of the tips."

"And that arena?" Picard asked.

"Precisely what it's called. Strike teams outfit there, preparing for missions into the labyrinth."

Picard caught sight of Sisra hovering outside the small kitchen/scullery beside the entry stairs. "I see you wrangled a stint here."

"Not at all. I always knew Hathor's comings and goings, and was willing to endure punishment by the cruel kitchen mistress. Watch that far corner of the arena." A caged chamber squatted there. "That's a teleport, left behind by a race called Teknikers. Thousands awaited discovery. All you needed was the teleport address on the base ring to access another one."

The device emitted a tone, heralding the arrival of a four-member group. They were dragging one of their members. The team leader, who had a mustache and silver helm, shared the load with a brawny man who had yellow hair brushed straight up. A petite blonde outfitted with bow and arrow called frantically for help.

"No help is coming," Ardra said dryly. "The camp healer is away, because the king sprained his ankle. Ironically, the boy they're carrying is the team healer, being of the wizard class."

Picard followed Ardra's prompt, watching Sisra force her way through the crowd. He guessed her intent. "But she has no power."

"Ah, but she's a skilled herbalist. She knows that Team Hathor is exploring a floating city, home to dangers like one with a barbed, poisonous tail. She has noted the boy's swollen throat and face, how he can't draw enough breath."

Picard couldn't believe his eyes. Sisra mounted a table to the outrage of its occupants, gripped the fence top, and vaulted over, ripping her dress. She eluded a camp guard to slide in beside the group, who tried vainly to help the stricken lad. Over spirited objection, Sisra convinced the blonde, apparently, they had nothing to lose at this point. She clamped a bag over the boy's face.

"A prepared mixture of powders that includes chamomile," Ardra said, "known to clear the airway.

"The inciting incident." Picard watched the boy sit up and begin coughing, slapped helpfully on the back by the blonde, and joyfully welcomed back to the world of the living. Camp guards hustled Sisra back to the fence gate.

"We aren't quite there yet." Ardra pointed to Sisra making the dejected walk back to the scullery, the object of amused pats on the head by thoroughly entertained patrons. "This would all have been for naught if not for what the blonde sorceress does. I'll let you understand their speech."

"Maid." The sorceress waited at the end of the fence until Sisra made her way there. "You deserve better. I'll send for you in the morning."

Picard now found himself atop the battlements, near where a flag snapped in the breeze. "I perceive there began a forbidden tutoring. Your progress was meteoric. But you said the required brain structure was absent."

"Rather than a fibrous link, it turned out to be a bridge arising out of the progenitor mind, the only one of its type. After some giddy years at the team's wizardress, I became a recluse, aware of worlds beyond this one. In particular, there was a galaxy full of squabbling miscreants that just begged for intervention. I began to experiment with creating wormholes."

"And here we are," Picard said. "Incredible. You set a goal and began to methodically go about achieving it, letting nothing stand in your way." His mind went back to the continuum thing. "Will there be trouble with the Q?"

"There will be trouble for the Q."

"Ardra—" Picard recalled a painful event. "Q sent Enterprise into the delta quadrant to introduce us to the Borg. Could you do that?"

"No, because it's a dumb thing to do. Where he's better with objects, I'm better at denying him to ability to use them. The next time he arrogantly pops onto your ship, I'll be there."

Picard stared into the distance. "War among the gods. Please leave my ship out of it."

"We'll see," Ardra said mischievously. "Let's get back to Enterprise."