"Peace, friend," he said. "I will try to explain, although I think you will not care for me so much once you have heard my story. Still, it would only be what I deserved…"

Chert sat down, shared a glance with Opal. She leaned forward and filled the physician's cup with blueroot tea. "Speak, then." Despite his curiosity, Chert hoped it would not be a long story. He had already been up half the night and was so weary he could barely keep his eyes open.

"I have… I had… an… object. A mirror. You heard Okros talk of captromancy-a clumsy word that means mirror-scrying. It is an art, an art with many depths and strange turnings, and a long, mysterious history."

"Mirror-scrying?" Opal asked. "Do you mean reading fortunes?" She re¬filled her own teacup and put her elbows on the table, listening carefully.

"More than that-far more." Chaven sighed. "There is a book. You likely have not heard of it, although in certain circles it is famous. Ximander's Book, it is called, but those who have seen it say it is merely part of a larger work, something called The Book of Regret, which was written by the fairy folk-the Qar, as they call themselves. Ximander was a mantis, a priest of Kupilas the Healer in the old days of the Hierosoline Empire, and he is said

In have received die writings from a homeless wanderer who died in the temple."

Chert shifted impatiently. This might be the kind of thing that fascinated Chaven, but he was having trouble making sense of it. "Yes? And this book taught you mirror-scrying?"

"I have never seen it-it has been lost for years. But my master, Kaspar I)ye!os, had either seen it or a copy of it when he was young-he would never tell me-and much of what he taught me came from those infamous pages. Ximander's Book tells us that the gods gave us three great gifts-fire, shouma, and mirror-wisdom…"

"Shouma? What is that?"

"A drink-some call it the gods' nectar. It breeds visions, but sometimes madness or even death, too. For centuries it was used in special ceremonies in the temples and palaces of Eion, for those who wished to become closer to the gods. It is said that just as wine makes mortals drunk, shouma makes the gods themselves drunk. It is so powerful that it is not used anymore, or at least the priests of our modern day mix only the tiniest bit into their cer¬emonial wine, and some say that it is not the true, potent shouma anymore, that the knowledge of making that has been lost. In the old days, many young priests used to die in shouma ecstasies at their first investiture…" He trailed off. "Forgive me. I have spent my life studying these things and I for¬get that not all are as interested as me."

"You were going to speak of mirrors," Opal reminded him firmly. "That was what you said. Mirrors."

"Yes, of course. And despite my seemingly wandering thoughts, that is the subject closest to my heart just now. The last of the gods' great gifts- mirror-wisdom. Captromancy.

"I will not task you with listening to much mirror-lore. Much is what seems like mere folktales, fairy stories to help the initiated remember com¬plicated rituals-or at least so I believe. But what cannot be argued is that with proper training and preparation mirrors can be used hot for reflection of what is before them, but as portals-windows, certainly, and some even claim as doors-to other worlds."

Chert shook his head. "What does that mean-other worlds? What other worlds?"

"In the old days," the physician said, "men thought that the gods lived here beside them, on the earth. The peak of Mount Xandos was said to hold Perin's great fortress, and Kernios was believed to live in the caverns

of the south, although I believe there are other strains of wisdom that claim he dwelt somewhat closer, eh?" He gave Chert a significant gaze.

What does he mean? Does he know something of the Mysteries? Chert looked at Opal, but she was watching the physician with a speculation Chert found unsettling, as if her mind was awhirl with dangerous new thoughts. Hut why would Opal, Funderling Town's least flighty person, the bedrock on which Chert had based his whole life, be so interested in this obscure study of Chaven's?

"In later years," Chaven went on, "when brave or sacreligious men at last climbed cloud-wreathed Xandos and found no trace of Perin's stronghold, new ideas arose. A wise man named Phelsas in Hierosol began to talk of the Many Worlds, saying that the worlds of the gods are both connected to anil separate from our own."

"What does that mean?" Chert demanded. "Connected but separate? That makes no sense."

"Don't interrupt, old man," said Opal. "He's trying to explain if you'd just listen."

Chaven Makaros looked a little shamefaced at being the cause of such discord. Despite living in the house for several days he had not yet realized that this was Chert and Opal's way of speaking, especially Opal's, a kind of mock harshness that did not disguise her true and much warmer feelings- did not disguise them from Chert, at least, though outsiders might not rec¬ognize them.

"Have I spoken too much?" the physician asked. "It is late…"

"No, no." Chert waved for him to continue. "Opal is just reminding me that I'm a dunderhead. Continue-I am fascinated. It is certainly the first time any of these subjects have been discussed inside these walls."

"I know it is hard to understand," said Chaven. "I spent years with my master studying this and still do not altogether grasp it, and it is only one possible way of looking at the cosmos. The School of Phelsas says that the mistake is in thinking of our world or the world of the gods as solid things-as great masses of earth and stone. In truth, the Phelsaians suggest, the worlds-and there are more than two, they claim, far more-are closer to water."

"But that makes no sense…!" Chert began, then Opal caught his eye. "Apologies. Please continue."

"That does not mean the world is made of water," Chaven explained. "Let me explain. Just off the coast of my homeland Ulos in the south there

is a cold current that moves through the water cold enough to be loll with the hand, and even of a slightly different color than the rest of the Hesperian Ocean. This cold current sweeps down from the forbidden lands north ol Sctlland, rushes south past Perikal and the Ulosian coast, then i tit ves back out to sea again, finally disappearing in the waters off the west¬ern coast of distant Xand. Does that water travel through a clay pipe, like a Hierosoline water-channel bringing water hundreds of miles to the city? No. It passes through other water-it is water itself-but it retains its char¬acteristic chill and color.

"This, says the School of Phelsas, is the nature of the worlds, our world, the world of the gods, and others. They touch, they flow through each other, but they retain that which makes them what they are. They inhabit almost the same place, but they are not the same thing, and most of the time there is no crossing over from one to another. Most of the time, one can¬not even perceive the other."

Chert shook his head. "Strange. But where do mirrors fit into this?"

For once in the conversation, Opal did not seem to find him a waste of breath. "Yes, please, Doctor. What about the mirrors?"

Their guest shrugged in discomfort. Even after several days, it was still strange to see him here in their front room. Chert knew that Chaven was not particularly large for one of the big folk, but in this setting he loomed like a mountain. "You do not need to call me 'Doctor, Mistress Blue Quartz."

"Opal! Call me Opal."

"Well. Chaven, then." He smiled a little. "Very well. Ximander's Book tells that mirror-lore is the third great gift because it allows men to glimpse these other worlds that travel as close to us as our own shadows. Just as an ordinary mirror bounces back the vision that is before it, so too can a spe¬cial mirror be constructed and employed that will send back visions of… other places." He paused for a moment, as if considering what he was about to say very carefully. In the silence, Opal spoke up.