Chapter 5

From one of the palace balconies, Archer watched Anka make her way toward the city gates, a traveling bag on her back and the handgun at her hip.

He watched until she disappeared beyond the oak grove.

Then the Painter went to the ruler’s chambers inside the palace.

The first thing he noticed upon entering was the abundance of flower bouquets arranged in vases throughout the room.

The air was filled with their fragrance.

“Did Anka receive visitors here?” Archer asked.

“Yes,” Sol replied. “Mostly members of the city council. Occasionally, ordinary citizens as well.”

The Painter slowly walked around the room, taking in every detail.

Anka’s personal belongings were scattered everywhere, along with papers covered in notes, maps, lists, and calculations.

Archer picked up several sheets and examined them.

They were filled with Anka’s neat handwriting. Many had additional notes, comments, and reminders scribbled along the margins.

A large desk stood in the center of the room, with the ruler’s chair on one side and two chairs for visitors on the other.

Archer settled into the ruler’s chair and began going through the papers on the desk and inside its drawers.

At the bottom of one drawer, he discovered a crudely stitched manuscript.

The Adventures of Archer and Anka: Stories for Children.

Archer laughed and picked it up.

Apparently, rather than throwing away government documents she no longer needed, Anka had used the blank sides of the pages to write an entire book.

Archer read half of the first page.

To his surprise, he found himself genuinely interested in what Anka had written.

He walked over to the bed, lay down, and continued reading the children’s book.

Here and there, he found illustrations—drawings Anka had made herself.

“Sol, can you see this?” Archer asked.

Sol opened his eyes and looked at the makeshift book in Archer’s hands.

“Yes. That is one of Anka’s works,” he said. “She greatly enjoys writing. You could say it’s where her heart truly lies.”

“She’s good at it,” Archer said. “I know it’s a children’s book, but even I’m enjoying it.

“I really am.”

“I agree,” Sol said. “Anka has talent.

“It’s a shame she doesn’t take it seriously.”

“We could prepare a surprise for when she comes back,” Archer said. “We could teach the children of the city to read. And we could turn this manuscript into a real book. What do you think?”

“Oh, Anka has already taught some of the children to read and write,” Sol replied. “But not all of them. Many of the parents objected. They considered it witchcraft and didn’t want their children learning it.”

“Why didn’t Anka tell me?”

“I’m sure she didn’t consider it important enough to mention,” the amulet said. “A great deal happened during those seventy-two years. I’m certain there are many things she simply hasn’t had time to tell you about.”

“Anka did a great job,” Archer said.

“Yes. She accomplished a great deal,” Sol agreed.

“It’s a shame she left us.”

Archer suddenly looked saddened.

“I’m sure she’ll return,” Sol reassured him.

“I certainly hope so.”

After spending several hours examining the documents and belongings Anka had left scattered around the room, Archer finally turned his attention to the affairs of state.

He began with the basics.

He took a population map of the lands known to the Shod and studied the enormous sheet. By his calculations, the known human population amounted to just over four thousand people.

These truly were prehistoric times, an age when humanity had yet to become master of the world.

The map showed those four thousand people scattered across the entire continent, living in small tribes.

Only the city of the Shod stood apart from the rest of humanity:

One thousand people living in a single place.

As had been the custom among the Shod since the settlement was founded, every citizen knew how to use a bow—including women and children.

There was no force anywhere on the continent capable of standing against them.

There was no one to fear.

And no longer any reason to hide in the canyon.

The Painter could begin expanding outward.

“What is our goal?” Sol asked as he and the Painter considered the future.

“To create a world filled with riches,” the Painter said, thinking aloud.

“What kind of riches?” Sol asked.

“The riches of sensation. Of experience. Of everything life has to offer,” the man replied.

“A full life.

“A life that feels more like an adventure than a struggle for survival.”

“But why?” the silver advisor asked. “What do you gain from any of this? What is your interest in it?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” the Painter said. “I was given a gift.

“So I should use that gift to do good.”

“Not everyone will appreciate your efforts,” the amulet said. “Human beings are contradictory creatures, full of flaws, weaknesses, and sins.”

“Yes, my friend. I understand that,” the Painter said. “But if I’ve been given this brush, I can’t simply do nothing.

“I have to use it.”

Archer looked at the brush.

It was still giving off a faint glow.

“My brush is glowing,” he said.

“Then it’s time to find out what that means,” Sol replied.

“How?” Archer asked.

“Trust the brush,” the amulet said.

Archer fell silent and thought.

What object would be most useful to a new and inexperienced ruler?

After considering the question for a minute, he raised the brush and began to paint.

The object was extremely simple, taking the Painter no more than thirty seconds to complete.

A pair of glasses.

The Glasses of Omniscience.

The Painter finished his work, and the glasses became real.

The faint glow surrounding the brush disappeared.

Instead, the glasses themselves now gave off a subtle glow.

Archer put them on and looked through the lenses at his magic brush.

Tiny letters immediately appeared before his eyes.

He read:

“Brush of Realization. Legendary item. Allows the Painter to materialize objects from his imagination into reality. Consumes a limited charge replenished through experience. A fundamental item of reality. Cannot be destroyed.”

Archer took particular note of the word Painter.

It was capitalized and specially emphasized in the text.

Then Archer walked over to the window and looked out at the city’s central square.

The glasses showed him information about everyone he could see:

Their names.

Their ages.

Their professions.

What they were currently doing.

Their current state of mind.

Wanting to test the glasses more thoroughly, the Painter summoned his servants.

A man and a woman hurried into the room.

The glasses displayed information about both of them, and Archer decided to test its accuracy.

“Your names are Mara and Pelgian,” Archer said.

“Yes, my lord,” the man replied.

Satisfied that the glasses had given him their correct names, the Painter turned his attention to the most interesting piece of information:

Their current state of mind.

According to the glasses, Mara felt reverence.

Pelgian felt nervous.

“Pelgian, I’ve heard a great deal about what an excellent servant you are,” Archer said. “I’m increasing your pay.”

The glasses immediately showed Pelgian’s nervousness disappear.

It was replaced by joy.

“Thank you, my lord,” Pelgian replied.

The glasses showed Mara’s reverence giving way to excitement.

“Mara, you’ve been doing an excellent job as well,” Archer said. “I’m glad to have such a good servant.”

Mara’s state of mind changed again.

This time, the glasses showed:

Joy.

“Thank you, my lord,” the woman said. “It is a great honor to serve you.”

“Good.”

Archer considered his experiment complete.

“I want to meet with the city council. Today. One hour from now. Can you arrange that?”

“Of course, my lord,” Pelgian said. “Consider it done.”

“Excellent. That will be all.”

The two servants left the room.

The meeting of the city council took place soon afterward.

Twelve people attended, representing everything from agriculture to scouting. They all took their seats around a circular table the Painter had created specifically for the meeting.

There was noticeable tension in the room.

For every member of the council, this was the first meeting with Archer—their ruler—in their entire lives.

All of them had been born and raised in the city after Archer entered his meditative trance. Most had never seen him in person. Only a handful had ever laid eyes on him inside the glass sarcophagus in the sanctuary.

To most of them, he was more myth than man.

A legend.

Seeing him alive and sitting among them felt strange.

No one knew what to expect.

“Gentlemen,” the ruler began. “Ladies. Welcome.

“You know me as Archer. You may call me that. Or you may address me as ‘Ruler.’

“Please, don’t be shy. Don’t be nervous. Don’t stand on ceremony. In many ways, I’m an ordinary person, just like all of you.

“And we share the same goal: the prosperity of our city.”

Archer paused briefly before getting down to business.

“I called you here today to announce a new direction for our city.

“We will no longer hide from the world.

“Because the world needs us.

“We will begin to expand. We will extend our borders and our sphere of influence.

“We will grow from a city into a country.

“And because there is no power equal to ours, we will become the dominant force throughout every land within our reach.

“But we will not be aggressive toward other tribes. We will not be warlike. We will conquer no one, and we will force no one to join us.

“No.

“People will either join us willingly, or we will offer generous rewards for becoming part of our society, or we will compensate them for the use of their lands.

“One way or another, we will eventually spread across all the land within our reach.

“This will not happen quickly.

“It will take centuries.

“None of you will live to see its culmination.

“But you will have the honor of beginning it.

“The creation of a new nation.

“The first nation in the world.”

Satisfied with his address, Archer sat down at the circular table and gave the floor to the others.

The head of the city’s water carriers spoke first.

“My Ruler,” he began. “My name is Lir. I am the Master of Water Carriers.”

“I know, Master,” Archer interrupted. “I know all of your names and positions. There’s no need to introduce yourselves.”

“Yes. Very well,” the water carrier continued. “Then allow me to be the first member of this council to express our gratitude for your return to the Shod.

“Our people owe you a great deal, and we are honored to serve you.

“But allow me also to be the first to inform you that the city is facing a crisis.

“As Master of Water Carriers, I must report that we are running short of drinking water.

“The wells dug half a century ago have nearly dried up.

“And the spring that supplied the city with drinking water when the settlement was first founded now produces only half as much water as it once did.”

Archer made several notes in his notebook.

“Understood. Thank you, Master,” he said. “I’ll deal with the problem as soon as this meeting is over.

“Let’s see what my brush can do.”

“There is a major criminal organization operating within the city,” the Master of the Watch began. “I suspect that roughly a third of our city guards accept bribes and allow criminals to conduct their business without fear.

“We don’t pay the guards enough to keep them loyal to the law.

“We need to double their salaries.

“At the very least.”

“How much do you need?” Archer asked.

“Eighteen thousand a month,” the Master of the Watch replied. “At present, we spend only eight thousand on salaries.”

“What does the Master of Coin have to say?” Archer asked.

“The treasury is already depleted, Ruler,” said the treasurer, an elderly man. “Taxes are already quite high. The silver mine stopped producing silver two generations ago.

“We have nowhere else to obtain additional funds.

“We need capital.”

“I understand.”

Archer wrote the problems down in his notebook.

“What about gold?”

“We know what it is, Ruler,” the Master of Coin said, “but we possess very little of it. Not enough to introduce gold coins into circulation.”

“How much gold do you need?” the Painter asked.

“How much?” the elderly man repeated.

“Yes,” the Painter said. “How many tons would you need to mint enough gold coins for full circulation?”

“I...” The Master of Coin hesitated. “I don’t know, my Ruler.”

“Find out,” the Painter ordered. “Then report back to me.

“I’ll produce however much gold you need.

“Who else has something to report?”

“My Ruler,” one of the women began, the Master of Agriculture. “Our storehouses are overflowing. We have far more grain than we need.

“Every year, we’re forced to burn tons of surplus wheat to keep it from being consumed by pests.

“This policy is hurting the farmers’ morale. They don’t understand why they should break their backs growing crops that simply get burned year after year.”

“What kind of absurd policy is that?” Archer asked. “Why can’t you just plant less?”

“Because of the risk of drought,” the woman replied. “If a drought comes and the harvest fails, we need grain left over from the previous year.

“But we haven’t had a drought in twenty years, and we have no reason to believe one will return anytime soon.

“Besides, now that you and your brush are with us again, we can produce grain from nothing whenever we need it.

“You would be able to provide us with grain if there were a drought, wouldn’t you?”

“Why not simply burn the excess grain without the workers knowing?” Archer asked.

“Ours is a small city,” she replied. “Rumors spread quickly. Whoever we asked to burn the grain in secret would eventually tell someone, and word would reach the farmers.”

“I see.”

Archer made another note in his notebook.

“We’ll deal with that problem too. Give me some time to think about it.”

“Thank you, my Ruler,” she said.

“Anyone else?” the ruler asked.

“Yes,” said the Master of Health. “Should we continue the policy of encouraging large families?”

“Is there a problem with it?” Archer asked.

“There are several problems,” the Master replied. “Our city exceeded its optimal size decades ago. The population density is too high.

“Houses are being built on top of houses.

“Living in such cramped conditions is creating serious sanitation problems, particularly when it comes to the disposal of human waste.

“If you want the population to continue growing at its current rate, the city needs a sewer system.

“But I would recommend a different approach.”

“Which is?” the ruler asked.

“Resettlement,” said the Master of Health. “You’ve made it clear that you intend to expand.

“Moving groups of people beyond the city would help both with expansion and with our sanitation problems.

“Give the order to organize groups of settlers and send them to locations suitable for establishing new settlements.”

“I support that.” The Master of Water Carriers slapped his hand against the table.

“Yes!” the Master of the Watch joined in.

Soon everyone at the meeting was pounding the table in approval.

“All right, all right.” Archer raised a hand. “If everyone agrees, then so be it. Groups of settlers will be organized as soon as possible.”

“Ruler,” one of the Masters began, but Archer still had his hand raised, and the man hesitated.

“I don’t understand,” the Painter said. “You had Anka. Why wasn’t she dealing with all these problems?”

No one dared answer.

“Come on. Someone,” Archer insisted. “Lir, I’m asking you. Why did Anka let things get this bad?”

“How do you think she was supposed to solve these problems?” asked the Master of Water Carriers.

“The way a ruler should,” Archer replied. “Of course, I understand that she didn’t have the magic brush, but surely all of these problems could have been solved without magic.”

“My Ruler,” said the elderly Master of Coin, “Anka governed well for decades.

“She transformed a small settlement into a prosperous city in an extraordinarily short time.

“Our city has always had problems. She solved most of them—with our help, of course.

“It just happens that some problems remained unresolved when you returned.

“Don’t judge her too harshly.

“She did everything she could.”

“All right. I understand,” Archer said.

He turned to another member of the council.

“Master of Builders, you wanted to say something.”

“Thank you, Ruler,” said the Master of Builders. “As you are probably aware, many of the city’s people worship you and Anka as living gods.

“For decades now, we have received petitions asking us to build a Temple of Archer and a Temple of Anka.

“We repeatedly asked Anka for permission to construct these temples, but she refused. She promised that once Archer awakened, the people would be able to receive a decision on the matter directly from you.”

“I understand,” Archer said.

“People are superstitious. They’re going to worship Anka and me whether the state officially sanctions the religion or not.

“So I would rather they do it openly, where we can see it, than allow their worship to take strange forms without our knowledge.

“Build the Temple of Archer and the Temple of Anka.

“That is my decision.”

“It will be done, Ruler,” the Master of Builders replied.

“Anything else?” the Painter asked.

No one else wished to speak.

“Very well,” the ruler said. “That will be all.”

The city council left the hall, and Archer found himself alone.

He realized that he missed Anka.

He missed the loyal partner she had been in everything they did together.

Deciding that work was the best cure for his longing, Archer looked at his notebook, reread his notes, and set out to tackle the first problem on his list.

The Painter left the palace and ran toward the spring.

When he reached the source of the underground water, he found a group of water carriers gathered there. They were filling one container after another, then loading them onto carts and hauling them back to the city.

“How’s it going?” Archer asked as he approached.

The water carriers exchanged uncertain glances, not knowing who he was.

“I’m Archer,” he explained. “Your ruler.”

“Archer,” one of them repeated.

He dropped to his knees.

“My lord,” another said immediately, kneeling as well.

One by one, everyone gathered around the spring knelt before the man they worshiped as a god.

Archer wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable with such treatment.

“The Master of Water Carriers told me about the problem with the city’s drinking water supply,” Archer explained.

“Yes, my lord,” the senior water carrier replied. “There isn’t enough water for our needs. We’ve been rationing it among the citizens for years.”

“Well,” Archer said. “Let’s see if we can fix that.”

The Painter took out his brush, knelt beside the spring, and lowered the hand holding it into the water.

He closed his eyes.

He imagined an abundance of groundwater and began moving the brush through the spring, painting that vision into reality.

And then something happened that he hadn’t expected.

In the darkness behind his closed eyes, he could somehow sense all the underground water materializing deep beneath them—beneath the city, beneath the entire canyon.

His hand felt the water level in the spring rise until a stream began flowing over its banks.

He heard the water carriers cheering and praising his name.

But the Painter’s attention remained elsewhere.

He could still feel the water he was creating, flowing through a vast network of underground rivers.

It was a strange sensation, as though he existed not only within his own body but far beyond it.

In some ways, the state reminded him of the meditative trance in which he had spent seventy-two years.

He could hear the voices of the water carriers, but the more he focused on the underground water, the fainter those voices became.

And then, within that darkness, he sensed another presence.

The presence of the brush.

His eyes snapped open, his awareness rushing back into his body.

And suddenly, he knew.

The brush was alive.

“The brush is alive,” he said aloud, as though afraid the realization might slip away.

But no one heard him over the cheering.

He rose to his feet and looked at the brush with entirely new eyes before carefully slipping it into his pocket.

His first instinct was to share the discovery with Anka.

And when he remembered that she was gone, he felt terribly alone.

Archer left the spring and headed toward the grain storehouses.

On the way, he spoke to the amulet.

“Sol, something strange happened.”

“I’m listening,” the amulet replied.

“I think the brush is alive,” the Painter said.

“Please, tell me more,” Sol replied.

“I was at the spring. I put the brush into the water, closed my eyes, and began painting underground water.

“After a while, it was as though I could feel the water beneath the ground.

“As though I became the water.

“I was inside my own body and inside the underground water at the same time.

“And while I was in that strange state, I sensed that the brush was there too.

“Somewhere close to me.

“With me.

“As though it were alive.”

“Interesting,” Sol said.

“Yes,” Archer replied.

Then he asked the amulet:

“What do you make of it?”

“It is entirely possible that the brush really is alive,” Sol said. “It may simply represent a form of life unfamiliar to us.

“An unusual form of consciousness.

“I would venture to suggest that what we currently know about the brush is only a tiny fraction of what there is to know.

“There may be much more for us to discover.”

“How?” the Painter asked.

“I don’t know,” the advisor replied. “But we could begin by trying to recreate your out-of-body experience with the underground water.”

“Yes,” Archer said. “All right.

“We’ll try it again later.”

Archer arrived at the grain storehouses, introduced himself to the workers, and asked to see the grain that was considered surplus that year.

One of the workers led him into an enormous granary filled to the rafters with wheat.

“You burn all of this every year?” the Painter asked.

“Yes, my lord,” the man replied. “So the mice don’t get to it.”

“All right. Thank you. Leave me.”

“At once, my lord.”

The man returned to his post.

“So what do we do about this problem?” Archer asked his advisor.

“Surplus grain,” Sol stated the obvious. “I assume you don’t want to simply erase it?”

“No. That would be no different from burning it. Although...”

Archer thought for a moment.

“I suppose I could erase the grain with the brush and tell the farmers that the god named Archer ate it because he was hungry.”

“Yes,” Sol said. “Considering how quickly rumors spread through this city, that would do wonders for the legend of Archer—the man-god who devours tons of grain.

“So that is one solution.”

“Are there others?” Archer asked.

“I assume there are,” Sol replied. “We simply haven’t thought of them yet.”

“Hmm...”

Archer considered the problem.

“I could use the brush to create a magic bag with infinite capacity. We put all the grain inside it. And then...

“Then we could take the bag to other tribes and give the grain to them.”

“Or,” the amulet said, “the bag could contain a pocket outside the flow of time. Anything placed inside it would cease to age.

“Time inside the bag would stand still.

“That way, the grain would remain fresh forever. And if a drought ever came, we would have a reserve of perfectly preserved grain.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, Sol,” the Painter said, impressed. “I hope the brush has enough charge to create something like that.”

“Speaking of the brush’s charge,” the amulet said, “there is something I would like to ask.

“When you use your left hand to erase objects from reality, does that consume the brush’s charge?”

“Probably,” Archer replied uncertainly.

“Let’s find out.”

Archer took the brush from his pocket, used it to create a strip of translucent adhesive tape, and placed the tape around the brush to mark its current charge level.

Then he transferred the brush to his left hand and began erasing masses of grain.

After removing roughly one-twentieth of the granary’s contents, he checked the brush.

Its charge had increased.

“Sol!” the Painter exclaimed. “The brush recharged!”

“Excellent,” the amulet said.

“Do you realize what this means?” the Painter asked excitedly.

“That you now have an easier way to replenish its charge?” Sol replied calmly.

“Exactly!” Archer said, delighted. “We could even try to measure how much grain produces how much charge.

“And not just grain. We can erase other things too. Other materials. We can measure which materials give us the most charge.

“Damn, this is fascinating!”

“A worthwhile experiment,” Sol said.

The Painter spent the rest of the day investigating how the brush recharged.

He created a measuring tape marked in millimeters so he could precisely measure the brush’s charge level. Then he created a large scale capable of weighing up to two hundred pounds and began taking measurements, recording everything in his notebook.

He tested wheat, wood, stone, iron, water, wine, and potatoes.

Two hundred pounds of potatoes, for example, produced a different amount of charge than two hundred pounds of wheat.

More interesting still, the amount of charge required to create two hundred pounds of a given material was not equal to the amount restored by erasing those same two hundred pounds.

The brush clearly operated according to some strange mathematics of its own.

For now, the Painter had no idea what those mathematics were.

Then an interesting thought occurred to the Painter:

Could the brush not only create and erase matter, but transform one material into another?

He tried turning water into wine.

Wood into stone.

And discovered that yes—the brush could transform one material into something entirely different.

Delighted by this new discovery, the Painter began measuring how much charge different transformations consumed.

By the end of the day, his notes clearly showed that transformation was far more efficient than creating something from nothing.

His experiments demonstrated that it was better to transform wheat into gold than to erase the wheat and then create the gold from scratch.

He also discovered that certain transformations were far more efficient than others.

Turning lead into gold, for example, consumed significantly less charge than turning any other metal into gold.

Even so, he couldn’t work out the exact formula behind it all.

“I don’t think I’m a scientist,” he told Sol. “Curious, yes. Analytical, yes.

“But not a scientist.

“Some things are simply too complicated for me.

“All right. That’s enough experimenting and measuring for now.”

The Painter closed his notebook.

Archer returned to the granary and used the brush on the surplus grain.

He erased some of it to replenish the brush’s charge.

The rest, he transformed into gold.

He ordered the gold delivered to the Master of Coin to establish a gold currency.

And with the new gold currency, he ordered an increase in the salaries of the city watch.

The nation was ready to begin its expansion.