Maggie had time to wonder. According to Gallen, during the previous night his mantle had begun picking up memories in short bursts, so she put on her own mantle of technology and questioned Gallen about the problem.
“Gallen,” she whispered as the travelbeast charged down the dirt road, rounding a corner, “you said that the Inhuman is switching frequencies, trying to communicate with you. Did it do that only last night, or has it continued today?”
“It kept up until just past dawn,” Gallen said, “then it stopped.”
That was good news, at least. As she’d imagined earlier, the Inhuman’s ability to transmit seemed hampered in daylight, so it would be safer to travel by day. But she didn’t like the fact that the frequencies were changing at all. “Dammit, Gallen, the Word is more complex than I thought: at the very least, it is equipped with a transmitter so that it can communicate with the Inhuman.”
“But how much can it communicate?” Gallen said. “Is it just telling the Inhuman ‘I’m here,’ or does it send more information?”
Maggie considered. She’d thrown away the broken Word she’d had in camp yesterday. If she had it in hand, she might have been able to find its memory. Most likely, it would have been a small crystal, and by knowing its size, she would have been able to calculate exactly how much information was stored in the Word. But she knew that it couldn’t have stored much. If the Word’s memory was large at all, she’d have noticed its crystal earlier. Which meant that it wasn’t equipped with much memory-probably just enough to walk and move and recognize potential targets. It was probably not much smarter than an insect, and it might have had a transmitter in it just so that it could let the Inhuman know when to begin sending messages and whether they had been properly received.
But what bothered Maggie was that the Word didn’t need much memory to do some rather devastating things. With its transmitter, it might be able to download Gallen’s memories, his thoughts and ideas, and inform the Inhuman. It might be able to send direct transmissions to let the Inhuman know what he saw, what he smelled, what he heard.
In other words, without his knowledge or approbation, Gallen could very well lead them all into a trap, all the while believing himself to be fighting the Inhuman’s sway.
“Gallen, I don’t know how much the Word in your skull might be able to communicate with the Inhuman,” Maggie said hopefully. “But from what I’ve seen, the agents of the Inhuman don’t work in concert. Information doesn’t seem to be transferred directly between people. So that transmitter can’t be sending much.”
“But …” Gallen said, “I can tell that something worries you.”
Maggie leaned close to Gallen and a wave of dizziness passed over her. What she was about to say was so horrific, so undesirable, that she could hardly express her fears. “If the Word has a transmitter built into it, I’ve got to believe that it was put there for a good reason. I don’t know how much memory the Inhuman has. It couldn’t possibly hope to control a million or fifty million people all at once, so it downloads thoughts to you and lets you all act as if you were autonomous. But what if you’re not? What if the Inhuman could read your mind? What if it could take control of your body the way that Karthenor’s Guide took control of me? It wouldn’t take a lot of memory for the Inhuman to control a couple dozen people.”
“That can’t happen to me,” Gallen said. “My mantle is blocking its transmissions-at least during the daytime.”
Maggie looked meaningfully at Gallen and considered the problem. She didn’t want to speak so openly of such possibilities in front of Gallen and the others. She wanted to believe-she needed to believe-that the Inhuman had weaknesses, controllable limitations.
She whispered to her mantle, You have transmission capabilities. Can you help Gallen block the Inhuman’s signals?
Done, her mantle whispered. Static will be transmitted in a steady burst. Maggie understood that as long as she stayed within three meters of Gallen, the mantle would add an extra layer of protection.
Maggie silently asked her mantle to provide a schematic for the Word’s transmitter, and the mantle provided her with an image. The transmitter, it indicated, would most likely still be inside the metal body of the Word that had burrowed into Gallen’s skull. Because it was powered by a biogenic cell, the transmitter would have to be very weak, and would best communicate at ultralow frequencies, lower than those normally used by mantles. Maggie’s mantle was unable to read any such frequencies emanating from Gallen’s Word. And Maggie wondered if the Word was conserving energy. Perhaps it recognized the futility of trying to communicate during the day.
So Maggie sat next to Gallen, her mantle leaning up against his shoulder, and she rested as he drove.
During the late morning they began to pass others on the road-farmers with handcarts traveling to markets, old men with barrows carrying bundles of firewood, children herding pigs along the road.
Each time they passed such folk, the travelbeast was obliged to slow for safety’s sake. And on the occasions when they passed some small hamlet in which buildings made of stone seemed almost to stoop out into the streets, the beast was brought to a walk.
But once they passed such villages, the race would begin anew, and the giants ran. They startled herds of wild pigs sleeping under the oaks by the roadside, and often deer would bound away at their approach, crashing through the brush.
Thus in the early afternoon they topped a long grassy hill, and rested under the shade of an oak. The wooded valleys spread out wide below, thick with oak and alder. As far as they could see, the land looked barren of habitation.
With heavy hearts, three of the giants stopped, begging Ceravanne’s pardon for leaving. “You will have to go in the care of Fenorah from now on,” one young giant apologized, “though he’s not much good for anything but eating your stores.”
The giants were covered with sweat, but Ceravanne stood in the back of the wagon and leaned out, kissing each on the forehead. “Go with my blessing,” she said, “and know that I am grateful for your service.”
The travelbeast was winded, and it lowered its shaggy head and began tearing great clumps of grass from the ground. One of the giants took a bag of rotting pears from the back of the wagon and fed them to the beast, explaining that if it was to run all day, it would need something better than grass to eat.
Then the giants turned as if to walk back toward the sea, but they were slow to leave. And for her part, Maggie was sad to see them go. With them at her side, she’d felt safe, like a child in its father’s arms. One of them told a joke that Maggie could not hear, and the three laughed.
Gallen stood in the wagon and shouted in a strange tongue, “Doordra hinim s Duur!”
The three giants turned as one, raising their fists to the sky, and cried, “Doordra hinim!” Then they smiled, as if with renewed energy, and raced away.
Fenorah chuckled. “Stand tall in Duur! Indeed. Where did you learn that old battle cry? The Im giants abandoned the ancient tongue centuries ago.”
Gallen took a seat, but his eyes flashed, and he looked up into Fenorah’s face. “I learned it a few hours ago,” he said softly. “From a man who has been dead for five hundred years. He served beside the Im giants, and with them he hunted Derrits in the mountains of Duur until he swore fealty to the Swallow, and for her slew the Rodim.”
Gallen fell silent and his eyes lost their focus as he gazed inward. It was a magical thing for Maggie to see him as a boy one day, then suddenly turning into an old man the next, with too much pain and too much wisdom in his eyes.
Gallen began to sing, and though Maggie had heard him sing a few tavern songs, in the past she’d never thought him to have a fair voice. But now he sang in a voice that was both beautiful and startling, like the scent of a fresh rose filling a room in late autumn, and Maggie realized that it was a talent he’d learned from the Inhuman.