working out the full ramifications as I went. “But she doesn’t have to. The Furies already have at least physical access to everything.”
“It’s hardcoded,” agreed Shara. “When Necessity first transformed herself into a computer, she built that into the design specs in case anything went wrong during the changeover. For extra security, she made it a two-factor access system, Fury blood and Fury diamond.”
“I think I see now,” said Melchior. “When Necessity created Occam, she gave Ravirn extremely limited admin powers over the system. The chaos-diamond of the sword supplied the key for the lock, and the blood he charged it with identified his level of access.”
“Exactly,” said Shara. “When Cerice repaired the blade to my specifications—regrew it really—I had her infuse it with her blood, the blood of a full Fury, which grants unrestricted access to the physical plant of Necessity and to most of the software architecture as well.”
“So I probably shouldn’t misplace it, then, huh?” I turned the blade this way and that in the air—
it didn’t look anywhere near as important as it should have under the circumstances.
“No,” said Shara. “You shouldn’t. And, you won’t. I am sorry about this, but . . .” She quickly whistled a spell, something intricate and self-harmonizing. When she finished, the hilt of Occam grew suddenly, blazingly, hot along the side closest to my injured palm. The smell of burning meat filled the air, and I yelped and tried to fling the sword away. It clung to my hand as if it had fused itself to my flesh. I screamed and curled into a ball as Shara whistled a new spell. This one sounded a bit like the one used for closing athame wounds, though much more complex. The pain faded, but I still couldn’t release Occam.
“What the hell did you just do to me?” I yelled angrily.
“No more than I had to.” Shara looked simultaneously sorrowful and resolute. “The sword is a part of you now as it had to be to fulfill all of its functions.”
“That’s just gods-damned splendid, that is.” I felt a wild fury rising up from the center of my soul, and my voice followed it higher and higher. “Did it occur to you to ask first? Or that I might need both hands at some point?”
“Yes, and yes. I didn’t ask because I was pretty sure you’d refuse and, since I’d have had to do it anyway, that would only have made things worse. As for the second, I did make provisions.”
“Provisions!” I leaped to my feet and stomped over to glare down at her projected form. “You didn’t ask, and you made provisions? That’s . . . Urgh!” I couldn’t find the words.
I’d never been so angry with someone I cared so much about, not even Cerice—this was not the Shara I knew and loved. I turned away and stomped back toward Melchior. He was sitting perfectly still, a look of stunned betrayal on his face.
“I wonder if all that rage is something of a side effect?” muttered Shara.
“Side effect of what?” whispered Melchior. “What did that spell do? I couldn’t follow all of it, but what I could make out sounded really ancient.”
“It was,” said Shara. “It’s a very small part of the magic Necessity put into making the Furies what they are. Cerice found the core phrasing in the same place she found the information on the abacus network. Ravirn, I think that you will find the answer to Mel’s question if you reach for the link you now have with Occam.”
“Screw that.” I reached inward, but not for any link to the sword. No, I reached for the Raven. “I quit.” It was time to see if the sword could follow me through a transformation.
The shadow of the Raven fell over me, and I used it to rip my body apart, reshaping myself into a giant, black bird. When I finished, I looked down at my wing and found it free of Occam’s grasp.
I laughed a harsh, cawing laugh then, a laugh that cut off abruptly when I realized the sword had
“It’s hardcoded,” agreed Shara. “When Necessity first transformed herself into a computer, she built that into the design specs in case anything went wrong during the changeover. For extra security, she made it a two-factor access system, Fury blood and Fury diamond.”
“I think I see now,” said Melchior. “When Necessity created Occam, she gave Ravirn extremely limited admin powers over the system. The chaos-diamond of the sword supplied the key for the lock, and the blood he charged it with identified his level of access.”
“Exactly,” said Shara. “When Cerice repaired the blade to my specifications—regrew it really—I had her infuse it with her blood, the blood of a full Fury, which grants unrestricted access to the physical plant of Necessity and to most of the software architecture as well.”
“So I probably shouldn’t misplace it, then, huh?” I turned the blade this way and that in the air—
it didn’t look anywhere near as important as it should have under the circumstances.
“No,” said Shara. “You shouldn’t. And, you won’t. I am sorry about this, but . . .” She quickly whistled a spell, something intricate and self-harmonizing. When she finished, the hilt of Occam grew suddenly, blazingly, hot along the side closest to my injured palm. The smell of burning meat filled the air, and I yelped and tried to fling the sword away. It clung to my hand as if it had fused itself to my flesh. I screamed and curled into a ball as Shara whistled a new spell. This one sounded a bit like the one used for closing athame wounds, though much more complex. The pain faded, but I still couldn’t release Occam.
“What the hell did you just do to me?” I yelled angrily.
“No more than I had to.” Shara looked simultaneously sorrowful and resolute. “The sword is a part of you now as it had to be to fulfill all of its functions.”
“That’s just gods-damned splendid, that is.” I felt a wild fury rising up from the center of my soul, and my voice followed it higher and higher. “Did it occur to you to ask first? Or that I might need both hands at some point?”
“Yes, and yes. I didn’t ask because I was pretty sure you’d refuse and, since I’d have had to do it anyway, that would only have made things worse. As for the second, I did make provisions.”
“Provisions!” I leaped to my feet and stomped over to glare down at her projected form. “You didn’t ask, and you made provisions? That’s . . . Urgh!” I couldn’t find the words.
I’d never been so angry with someone I cared so much about, not even Cerice—this was not the Shara I knew and loved. I turned away and stomped back toward Melchior. He was sitting perfectly still, a look of stunned betrayal on his face.
“I wonder if all that rage is something of a side effect?” muttered Shara.
“Side effect of what?” whispered Melchior. “What did that spell do? I couldn’t follow all of it, but what I could make out sounded really ancient.”
“It was,” said Shara. “It’s a very small part of the magic Necessity put into making the Furies what they are. Cerice found the core phrasing in the same place she found the information on the abacus network. Ravirn, I think that you will find the answer to Mel’s question if you reach for the link you now have with Occam.”
“Screw that.” I reached inward, but not for any link to the sword. No, I reached for the Raven. “I quit.” It was time to see if the sword could follow me through a transformation.
The shadow of the Raven fell over me, and I used it to rip my body apart, reshaping myself into a giant, black bird. When I finished, I looked down at my wing and found it free of Occam’s grasp.
I laughed a harsh, cawing laugh then, a laugh that cut off abruptly when I realized the sword had
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