Made of stout wood and banded in three places with iron, it proved quite solid. When it turned out to be locked, he was hardly surprised. After all, why should his madness make things easier for him?
“Now what?”
Mumbling to himself, he wandered back to the window and stared out. “Hello?” he shouted. When no answer returned, he wondered if he would have been more surprised had he received a reply.
He stood at the window staring out at the unchanging waters for what seemed hours. When the sky began to lighten, he came to realize that the windows looked westward, though he doubted if such information would prove useful in his present condition. With the onset of dawn, the added light enabled him to better inspect his new prison, for prison was how he had come to think of this place. Locked door, iron barred windows, if it wasn’t a prison, it was close.
His newly brightened world revealed four wall sconces set about the room. Three were empty while the fourth held a two and a half foot haft of wood. As the light grew in intensity, he discovered it to be a torch, unused by the looks of it. Reaching up, he pulled it from the sconce and held it in his hand. For madness, his world sure had the heft and feel of reality.
Clasping the torch gave him a sense of comfort. Why, he wasn’t sure, but just having it did much for his morale. Most of his equipment had been lost during the flight through The Devil’s Kiln. Other than a belt pouch wherein he kept his most basic requirements for survival such as his flint stone and a handful of coins, everything else but the clothes on his back had been discarded. Even the blanket with which he had covered himself during the oppressive heat of the Kiln was gone. At least with the torch, he would have light for a short duration once the sun went down. After that…?
Wondering what ravages the Kiln’s oppressive heat may have wrought upon him, Holk moved to the mirror. In the burgeoning light, he found it to be medium-sized and rectangular. The outer frame looked to be gold with fancy filigree worked into all four corners. Turning his attention to the image in the mirror, he saw how his skin had turned very dark, his lips and the area around his nostrils showed moderate crackage. What a sight his visage had become. It would take some time before healing erased the damage.
Running his fingers over his face, he traced the outline of a scar upon his jaw line, one that he couldn’t recall having acquired. Most likely it had happened during, or subsequently after, the disastrous siege.
His mind wandered back, trying to place the precise point in time. Minutes passed as he wandered along memory’s byways, moving from the siege, to times before the siege, and to other instances captured from a lifetime of experiences, as one’s mind tended to do when not micro-managed.
During an episodic recollection of his youth, Holk realized that his complexion in the mirror had altered slightly. Snapping back to the present, he discovered the face in the mirror looked subtly different than it had but a few moments ago. The sun-fried cracks seemed less pronounced, and the redness of his skin had lightened a shade.
Reaching fingers to again tactilely inspect the damage, they told him the damage remained despite the evidence reflected in the mirror. He closed his eyes, and shook his head. When he looked again, the face in the mirror had returned to normal.
It must be the madness. Madness, after all, often played tricks on the mind. Wasn’t that the basic definition of madness? Grinning, he returned his gaze to the mirror to see if the madness would repeat itself. Sure enough, his reflected image began altering after but a few minutes of unrelenting watching.
Holk continued to gaze at his reflection, fascinated as to how far his mind would take this. He tried moving his head to see if the image would follow suit, and it did. After a bit, he began to grow tired of this game. About to turn away, he saw the barest shadows of vertical lines appear in the mirror, beyond the image. Running the height of the mirror, they remained out of focus, looking almost like trunks of trees as seen through a dense fog, only without the fog.
Reaching out his hand to touch the image, he was again engulfed in total darkness.
He groaned. “Not again.”
To his surprise, the wall which had stood before him but a moment ago had vanished. Stretching his arms out to the sides and behind him as far as they would reach, he encountered only empty air. The air however, felt different. Slightly warmer and carrying an undertone of something unfamiliar, it didn’t elicit feelings of danger, or unpleasantness. Actually, it reminded him of nature, just not anything he recognized.
At least he still held the torch, and in his pouch rested his flint. Now, if he could find a stone to use in conjunction with the flint, he could light the torch and see just what sort of environs his madness had constructed for him this time. A quick search of the earthen floor located a suitable specimen adequate for spark production.
Schtk…schtk.
Twice he struck the flint to the rock, each time generating a bounty of sparks. On the second try, the torch’s flammable material began smoldering. A couple soft breaths encouraged the embers to life. As they caught and the fire spread to engulf the torch’s head, Holk slipped the flint back into his pouch, took the torch, and stood.
What met his eyes caused him to blink several times as he couldn’t believe what they saw. Before him rose a mushroom stalk to a towering elevation twice his height. Atop the stalk, the cap spread wide in a bright red display. Other mushrooms, some even taller, spread out like a forest in all direction. There were a multitude of smaller varieties consisting of the very small, to those that equaled him in height.
Their plethora of stature was equally matched by their kaleidoscopic array of colors. Varying degrees of reds such as the giant one before him, purples, gray, green, and still more; it was as if a maddened painter had been let loose with an endless palette.
“Wow.”
Taking in the scene, Holk was suitably impressed by the world his mind had crafted. He reached out to test the reality and found the giant stalk quite solid. Stepping forward, he thumped it, producing a deep tone indicating a dense core. Yes, quite solid indeed. Solider, in fact, than what he had expected.
The mushrooms grew in an underground cavern. Overhead, the ceiling arched to a height well over fifty feet. Dirt covered most of a floor that undulated throughout like a hillside in miniature. Rocks were very few, poking from the dirt in isolated communities.
He held the torch high as he took in this latest environment his mind had crafted. Turning to the right, a flash of light drew his attention to the cavern wall beyond the forest of stalks. Intrigued, he moved closer only to find the flash had come from another mirror. Round, small, and most likely made of brass, it felt completely out of place in keeping with the room’s mushroom motif. The brass frame held subtle undertones of oceanic waves coursing along the edge. Holk admired the craftsmanship that had gone into its construction.
Unconsciously, he reached out to give the mirror a tactile inspection. Holk abruptly yanked his hand back before it could come into contact with the border. Something wasn’t quite right. Hadn’t the last thing he did in the previous room was touch the mirror?
Holk nodded. “Yes, it was.”
Come to think of it, back in the cave among the monoliths, after escaping the early morning sun of the Kiln, he had dug stone from around a mirror too. Dragging memories of a watery room to the surface, he remembered the last thing he did, after swimming across to dry land, was to touch a smooth surface. Another mirror? Perhaps. The result of touching that mirror, had delivered him to the room where he found the torch. From there, another mirrored encounter brought him to this room of mammoth fungal growths. Perhaps there was a method to his madness, or at least an underlying theme…the mirrors.
There was really only one way to test his theory. He had to touch the mirror. But dare he? Just because previous encounters had turned out benign, could he afford to assume another would? His hand hovered before the mirrored surface as indecision warred with curiosity. Finally, Holk determined he had nothin
g to lose. He was mad anyway, right? Moving his hand forward, he felt his fingers touch the mirrored surface.
Instantly, the world about him changed and he stood upon a knoll surrounded by a wide expanse of water. He couldn’t help but laugh, for this had to be the same room he had been in earlier.
“Hello!” A familiar echo reverberated back. Holk turned to gaze at the room now revealed in his torch’s light. As he had earlier figured, it was an underground cavern. Remembering the area of dry land beyond the water’s edge, he sought, and found, where he had emerged from the water.
There loomed the outcropping of rock he had maneuvered around during his spate of blind groping. Not far past that protrusion stood the mirror. Its dimensions matched what he recalled from his earlier experience. “If I touch you, will I be returned to the room with the twin windows overlooking the ocean?” Such had been what happened the last time.
Turning his attention from what he knew, he began scanning the rest of the outer fringe of the underground lake. Could there be more than one mirror? Sure enough, on the cavern wall abutting another area of dry land, stood a second one. It had a silver, oval frame and was much smaller.
Holk gazed at it with curiosity. “Where do you lead, I wonder?” Not quite ready to trust his fate to an unknown, he continued his search of what he consider to be the “Lake Room,” but found no further evidence of a third mirror.
He really had no desire to get wet again, but wished to test his theory about the mirrors. Holding his torch high, he entered the water and swam with great care to avoid dousing the flame. He one-armed stroked toward the landing of dry ground and the mirror he had touched the time before.
Upon reaching the dry land, he climbed from the water and approached the rectangular, golden-bordered mirror. Steeling his courage, he marched straight for it and without hesitation, laid his hand full upon the reflective surface.
Chapter 3
It worked!
When two windows, lit with early morning light appeared, Holk grinned. He was back in the room overlooking the ocean. Turning his attention toward the mirror with the golden border adorned with fancy filigree, he figured a touch should take him to the room of the giant mushrooms. With confidence high, he marched straight to it and placed his hand upon the center of its reflective surface.
In an instant, the wall vanished and the forest of mushroom stalks took its place. There had been no feeling of having been moved. One moment he stood in the Prison Room, and the next he was surrounded by gigantic, fungal growths.
Such translocation shouldn’t be possible. He had never heard of such a thing, yet he couldn’t very well dispute his own senses. Or could he? Madness… No. This was all too real. Madness should be chaotic, emotionally taxing, and well, maddening. This had the feel of reality, though a reality with which he had little experience.
Okay, if this was real, where was he? More importantly, how could he get out? Standing amongst the mushrooms, a thought occurred to him. If he had entered this, uh, realm, by way of a mirror, then logic dictated another would get him out.
As he pondered his next course of action, his stomach growled. Hunger having been forgotten in the complexities of his current situation, it could no longer be kept at bay. The last nourishment that had passed his lips had been the bird caught back in the Kiln. Though having assuaged his hunger, it had been less than satisfying.
Gazing at the red cap of the giant mushroom before him, he wondered if it would be edible. Back home, his wife would use mushrooms on occasion. After a good rain, they would sprout in the forest near their home. Taking in the brightness of its reddish hue, he couldn’t recall her using a mushroom of such coloring. Those she harvested tended to be beige or gray.
A quick glance at his immediate surroundings revealed others of a more familiar hue. He didn’t know much about mushrooms other than they tasted good in his wife’s stew, though he did recall how she commented once on the poisonous of certain varieties.
Again, his stomach growled, insistent in its need to be satiated. With hunger prodding him forward, he selected a specimen that closely resembled those his wife had used having an off-brown coloring. It came easily from out of the ground, a spiderwebbing of small roots breaking off as he pulled it free.
The cap was soft and malleable. Taking a hesitant bite, he found the flavor akin to what he knew. The taste was rather bland, but the texture seemed right. He took a second, larger bite. Once that had been chewed and swallowed, he decided to wait before consuming any more. His stomach didn’t care for such a cautious course of action and gave out with a rather noisy declaration that said, “Feed me!” Holk ignored it. Should the mushroom prove toxic, it would be best if he ingested as little as possible. An hour should do it, he told the vociferous rumblings. If after that time he felt no ill effects, he would eat his fill. A glance around the room revealed many of the small, gray variety that waited to be gathered.
Water he had in plenty, the Lake Room held enough to last him a lifetime. Should the mushrooms prove benign, hunger would not be a problem either. There were still two main concerns which needed addressing; getting out, and light.
Of the three areas; the Lake Room, the Mushroom Garden, and the Prison, only the Prison had any source of light, and that would only last as long as the sun was up. His torch would not last forever. He needed to find the way out, and soon.
Recalling how he had discovered a second mirror in the Lake Room, Holk turned his efforts in discovering if this room also held a second mirror. Giving a quick, cursory examination, he soon found a second mirror a hundred feet farther down the wall to the right of the small, round brass mirror he encountered earlier which took him to the knoll of the Lake Room.
This one was just as small as the room’s other mirror, only with swirls of crystals surrounding the reflective area in lieu of a traditional border. Holk admired the craftsmanship of the crystals, figuring it to be worth quite a tidy sum if he could get it back home.
He tried removing it from the wall, but found it to be firmly in place. He longed for the knife inadvertently left behind in the cave back in the Kiln. With its blade, perhaps he could have pried it from the wall. Since he didn’t have it, removal was a moot point.
Would it take him from this place? Based on past experiences with the mirrors of this place, he figured it would take him somewhere, if not necessarily away. Thus far, the areas connected by the mirrors have been fairly benign. But in the back of his mind lurked the thought that placing his hand upon this mirror might take him some place he didn’t want to go. Had he a choice?
This was the only mirror he knew of that he had yet to try. True, he hadn’t completely explored the Lake Room, and there was the door that defied every attempt to open back in the Prison Room. Another way might be available, but in each instance, an element of unknown danger would still remain. Coming to a decision to take the chance, Holk reached out his hand and placed it against the mirror’s cool, reflective surface.
Instantly, sunlight bathed him as he again stared at the twin windows of the Prison Room. “Why back here?” Musing to himself, he crossed over to the right-hand window and gazed out.
Sunlight sparkled on wave crests for as far as the eye could see. The sky above was a brilliant blue marred only by a few wisps of clouds drifting by on lazy currents of air. No boats, nor any other sign of life, just water. Disappointed, he turned his attention back to the door.
It remained resolute in its desire to balk him. Unable to budge it, he tried placing the burning end of the torch against it. All that did was leave a black mark. Maybe if he had a bonfire going he could burn the door down, but considering the barrenness of the rooms he’d been in, such a course of action lay far beyond his reach.
But was this the only remaining avenue to be tried? He yet had to give every room a thorough look. Perhaps there may yet be another mirror? Only one way to find out. Turning about, he crossed over to the gold, filigreed mirror and laid his hand upon its center.
Holding the torch high, he scanned the walls, readily seeing the reflective surfaces of the two known mirrors, one bordered by a rectangular field of gold and the other a silver oval. He knew that the former would take him to the Prison Room, and the latter to the mushrooms.
As his eyes followed the cavern wall in its trek around the subterranean lake, they lost it at one point when it passed beyond the reach of the torchlight. The area of shadows lasted but twenty feet before the wall reappeared. From there, the wall remained in sight until reconnecting at the first mirror again.
Holk turned his attention back to the shadowy area. If there was another mirror, then it must assuredly be hidden in there. He didn’t fancy another immersion in the cold water, but had little options. His torch wouldn’t last forever and he needed to discover whether or not the shadowy area held something beneficial, like a way out.
Bracing for the icy touch of the water, he stepped into it and upon reaching a suitable depth, began one-armed swimming; the other being otherwise occupied in keeping the torch high and dry.
Torchlight rolled back the shadows with every stroke. The cavern narrowed to a watery tunnel barely fifteen feet in width as it curved toward the right. Maintaining a steady rhythm, Holk entered the tunnel and followed the curve until the main cavern passed from view. After completing a half-circle, the tunnel’s end came into sight.
Not far past where the tunnel continued straight once again, rose a jagged area of exposed rock. It held no flat area larger than the palms of his hands setting side by side, merely a conglomeration of broken rock protruding outward at every angle. Above the rocks, set flush against the wall, was another mirror; triangular with a cracked and time-worn wooden frame.
Portals Page 3