Oberon's Dreams - By Aaron Pogue Page 0,87
see how you can help prepare the people.”
Delaen swept a graceful curtsy. “Yes, Your Majesty.” She went two paces, then turned back. “Fortune favor, and statistics all be damned.”
It had a ritual sound to it, and Oberon grinned in answer. “And you as well. Evermore and evermore and evermore, amen.”
The king and Corin watched her go. Neither spoke until she’d left the landing, and then Corin realized that he was left alone in that vast chamber with the king.
The world was ending, but for just a moment, there was nothing more important than a conversation. The maker-king himself had said so. But for all the maddening things he’d seen, with Delaen’s parting words still hanging in the air, Corin could only think of one question. He turned toward the king. “What are proofs and postulates?”
Oberon smiled. “Filthy words.”
“And…scientist?”
Oberon gasped. “Who in all Hurope would speak that name?”
“Kellen. He said it to Ephitel.”
“Ah. If ever any black soul deserved such slander, it is Ephitel.” Oberon thought for a moment. “No. It is fitting. A scientist is one who would trade all the magic, all the majesty of this world for a little bit of power. It can be done with ways of thinking, or by remembering forbidden lore, or through certain artifice…”
“Guns,” Corin said. “And cannons. Ogden said you feared the dwarves.”
“Not the dwarves themselves,” Oberon said. “No more than I would fear my precious druids, though they carry living science in their strange little hearts. No, I fear what other men would do with their secrets.”
Corin nodded, very nearly understanding. “Tell me the story, then. What is yesterworld?”
Oberon heaved a weary sigh. “It is math and science. Schools and jobs. Reason unrestrained, taming all the fascinating mystery into one broad and pale monotony, as far as the eye can see. Politics and forms. Taxes. Statistical significance.” He sniffed and dabbed fresh tears from his eyes. “I watched a world of wild fancy reduced to tedium by the postulates and proofs, and then I dreamed a dream. I dared to make a new world untarnished by such things. I formed Hurope and welcomed certain of my brothers and cousins to enjoy the taste of magic once again. I even brought some selected few from among the mortals of that world—”
“Your druids.”
“Even so. Because…no matter how I hated reason, a world must have some to work at all. I chose representatives as devoted to the dream as I, and they brought with them just enough of rationality to keep the sunrise running smoothly.”
“I thought…” Corin started, but he trailed off, considering his words. He nodded. “I thought perhaps you were drifting, there. Perhaps you were telling tales to avoid thinking of the matter at hand.”
“No.”
Corin shook his head. “No. I think Ephitel is threatening your dream, in a very real way.”
“Just so. For the sake of power, he will undo the world he wants to rule.”
“I have seen the world that he rules,” Corin said. “It is not as bad as you predict.”
“Are there schools?”
“Aye, in the larger cities. Rikkeborh has a famed university, but it is lovely. It is useful. Ephitel’s true villainy lies in his abuse of honest men.”
Oberon waved that away. “Honest men will always be abused. It is their nature. In a fairy world or yesterworld, honest men will suffer. But we could have a world with mystery—”
“There is magic in my world,” Corin said. “There is mystery enough to drive a storm.”
“Heroes?” Oberon asked. “True heroes?”
Corin hesitated. “There are stories.”
“Old or new?”
Corin shrugged. “We know Aeraculanon. Tcilleas and the Hivernan War. Disis. The heathen Alleshim and his companion. And…well, there are those who know of Avery of Jesalich.”
“So. Age after age has passed, and these are the names you know? Avery who made his name on this very day. Aeraculanon who is ten years dead. Tcilleas lived to see the fall of Old Maedred, and Disis might still be enjoying himself on his little island kingdom. I remember Alleshim, and a hundred other heroes you’ve forgotten. But you cannot name me one I haven’t met. What does that suggest to you?”
“That there is greatness in your land—”
“No. It tells you greatness died at some age long past. It began to die when Ephitel attacked the city. In my time—in this time—there were heroes ever rising, falling, but in your time they are just a memory.”
“And you blame Ephitel?”
“I blame order. I blame reason. I blame schools and science. The traitor Ephitel will open those floodgates just to