Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 762
abbot. "I wish you well in yours, Galas." The abbot bowed,
and stepped backward out of the room.
Galas returned to examining her new realm. Hmm.
Where to start? These rooms might be small, but she was
happy to have them. She felt she deserved no more, after
letting her kingdom fall into civil war. She had dared much,
and lost it all; but she had never dared nor lost as much as the
people she commanded, and knowing this humbled her.
She could hear the walls’ murmur, faint in her minds’
ear. This new sense Jordan Mason had given to the world was
like dreaming while awake. She could order these stones to
change their color, texture, even to become warm. She could
talk to trees and animals, even the air itself.
Everywhere is sacred; we are all divine. No more could
a man justify power or wealth by claiming he needed it to
protect his people from material want. The elements were
enemies no longer. It hadn’t happened yet, but Galas knew
that soon, this fact would throw into sharp relief the true colors
of every tyrant in the world. New wars and revolutions would
follow, but they would be different from those that had
occurred in the past. Only men would do the killing now;
neither starvation nor exposure would kill those dispossessed
of their homes. And very quickly the refugees, who would
have been powerless in the wilderness in past ages, would
realize they were dependent on the conquerors for nothing.
They would make new political pacts, this time with the
Winds.
And so the world would fall into chaos, Galas thought,
but this time men would have to think of new excuses for
getting their fellows to follow them. The arrangement Mason
had made with Thalience was clear: the Winds regarded
humanity as a treasured companion but not a master. One