Portals

by Brian S. Pratt

  He kept the sword at the ready. His left hand clutched the sunstone, allowing the barest hint of light to escape between his fingers. This enabled him to barely make out the walls on either side as well as the passageway floor. Though nothing more than paler shadows in a world of shadow, they provided guidance.

  The thought that this might not be the way leading to the exit from this place nagged at the back of his mind. It could very well have been toward the lit section, the way the Ti-Ocks had gone, that would prove to be the road home. But since this was the way least likely to incur Ti-Ock attention, it was as good a place to start as the other. He could always go back.

  Minutes ticked by as Holk delved farther down what quickly turned out to be a forlorn and deserted section of Ti-Ock habitation. The walls continued unbroken with neither door nor opening. A few remnants telling of previous occupation were found; items such as broken planks of wood, empty torch sconces, and scraps of cloth. It looked as if no one had been down there for years. He continued on.

  Finally, the aspect of the tunnel…changed. Where the walls reached the ceiling remained the same. Where they met the floor, however, grew narrower. It was as if the bottom section of the walls gradually moved closer together. This continued for a good hundred feet until the space between the lower half of the walls was half that of the upper. Curious and slightly off-balanced by such an incongruous construction, Holk pressed forward.

  Not far beyond where the lower end of the walls ceased their inward progression and continued the unusual aspect, a gate appeared. Narrow bars set two hand-spans apart with a thick chain binding closed the section that swung open created a very effective barrier. No locking mechanism was attached to the chain. Instead, it bound the gate closed in perfect, unbroken-linked unity. It was as if the chain had been fashioned in place leaving neither a beginning nor an end.

  Holk pondered the enigma of a gate that could not be opened. The bars were firm and lacked any sign of aging. It was as if he had come upon the gate but hours after its construction; which of course was impossible. Attempts at yanking and pushing only served to prove its formidable nature.

  Irritation and no small amount of anger bubbled to the surface at his inability to continue. Beyond the gate, darkness beckoned teasingly, as if mocking him. Such an obstruction assuredly had to mean that his chance for escaping this prison was somewhere ahead. Gripping the gate in both hands, he shook the iron violently. It didn’t budge.

  Anger came over him. Unwilling to give up and turn around, he took three steps backward, glared at the point where the chain held closed the gate and gave out with a cry. Racing forward, he slammed the bottom of his boot against the chain with all his might. To his amazement, the blow wrenched the gate’s upper section away from the ceiling and brought it crashing down against the floor with a very loud and resounding boom.

  “Yes!”

  Holes gaped in the ceiling where the rods of the gate had been attached. Chips of stone lay scattered across the floor. He glanced to the gate where it lay prone upon the floor and chuckled. “Well, I guess you weren’t as strong as you thought.” Patting himself on the back for a job well done, Holk stepped upon the bars of the gate and with great satisfaction, disdainly ground his heel against the metal. “Nothing is going to stand in my way,” As he moved off the gate and continued down the passageway, he again exclaimed, “Nothing!”

  Fifty feet beyond the gate, the passageway reached a dead end without door or other avenue to continue. Why would they put a gate before a dead end? It was inconceivable. The thought that perhaps a secret way may be concealed spurred a lengthy search of the stone walls and floor. Not finding any hidden catch or pressure plate, he slowly worked his way back down the tunnel.

  It didn’t take long before he noticed the gate had returned to its former position blocking the passageway. Standing motionless in shock, it took a moment for his brain to come to grips with what he saw. The gaping holes in the ceiling where the bars had earlier come free were gone. It was as if the felling of the gate had never happened. Yet he knew that it had.

  Figuring that a well-placed kick had worked before, he backed several feet away, raced forward, leapt, and hit the gate with his foot. Every spec of power he could muster went into that kick. The resulting impact sent waves of pain up his leg. The gate refused to budge even when his knee buckled and the rest of his body crashed into the iron bars.

  Holk sagged to the floor. An inspection of his foot revealed it wasn’t broken, sprained perhaps. A few of the healing mushrooms later and the pain had subsided to a dull throb. He came to his feet and stood before the chain holding the gate closed. Raising his sword high, he considered attempting to shear the chain in two, but feared the possibility of being rendered weaponless in such a hostile environment should the links prove the hardier. Instead, he sheathed the sword then reached for his mirror-pack.

  The thought of using the mirror and return to the Prison Room, and then having to go back over the route that had brought him to the Arch, was not a pleasant prospect. Although, after another hour of searching for a secret way and working again to overcome the gate, he gave in to the inevitable.

  Pulling forth the mirror with the red mark that would take him to the Prison Room, he touched the surface.

  Chapter 14

  Twin beams of moonlight through a pair of barred windows announced his arrival in the Prison Room. “What a stupid trap.” Most denizens of this place more than likely possessed at least one of the handhelds and would be able to readily escape. Holk himself had spent relatively little time in the trap before making his escape. He couldn’t help but laugh.

  After slipping the mirror back into its pack with the other two, he crossed over to the nearest window and gazed out at the expanse of moon-dazzled water. The trek back to the Starburst Arch would take some doing, and with night having arrived Holk thought it best to sleep until morning before attempting the return trip. He was always at his best after a full night’s sleep.

  Far off in the distance, a light moved upon the water. Thoughts of trying to signal the ship, if ship it be, passed quickly. He did not wish a repeat performance with the giant birds. The two his earlier attempt attracted had nearly cost him his life.

  He remained at the window until the faraway light faded into the night.

  Long after the moon had set and naught but starlight streamed in between the bars, another light came into being. A small light to be sure, hardly more than the glimmer of a lightning bug being reflected off the surface of some high mountain tarn. But as in all things small, it eventually grew.

  A man lay next to the light, oblivious in his slumber. As the light grew to illuminate the corner in which the man slept, the man stirred only to have sleep’s unavoidable grasp pull him back to its nether reaches. And still the light grew in luminosity. It continued to grow until shadows that once filled half the room were laid waste.

  An avian denizen of the night marveled at this unusual happenstance from its perch upon the window ledge. It cocked an eye at the source of the light, curious as to what it could be. Being of medium stature, the bird easily slipped in through the bars and hopped to the ground.

  It kept an eye on the sleeping man as it carefully made its way closer to the ever brightening object. The light came from within something lying next to the man. Even with the glow now quite bright, the bird couldn’t make it out. Curiosity drove it forward.

  The light gave off no heat, which was in itself an odd thing. The bird simply didn’t know what to make of it. Reaching out with its bill, it snapped at the light and darted back. When its action provoked no response, it moved closer still. About to snap at it a second time, the bird danced backward when the object that was the source of the light… moved. Subtle, yet unmistakable, it looked as if something on the inside had pushed outward on the material. Poised to take flight, the bird watched.

  Dreams of better days were brought to a halt when an incredibly loud squawk pierced the night. Wrenched
from deep within sleep’s realm, Holk came awake and instinctively drew his sword.

  Light filled the room. The last vestiges of sleep fell away when realization hit that the light came not from the morn, but from a point only a few paces away. To make the scene even more surreal, a bird flapped erratically along the floor next to the light’s source.

  It took him but a moment to realize the light came from within his mirror-pack. As the bird thrashed and cried in fear, the pack moved in matching fashion, almost as if it and the bird were connected in some way.

  Unseen at first, it took a moment for his eyes to register a strand of light no bigger than a finger in width. It extended from the pack and had twined itself about the bird.

  As the bird thrashed, the band wrapped ever tighter around the bird. Holk watched as its end encircled the bird’s neck. A few moment’s later, the bird ceased thrashing and lay still.

  The bird and band of light remained motionless upon the ground for a few moments; then, the band uncoiled and slowly withdrew back into the pack. Once it had completely re-entered the pack, the light went out.

  Holk tried to fathom what he had witnessed. With the light gone, the room had plunged back into deep shadows that were only broken by the faint gleam of starlight coming in through the windows. He took out his sunstone and struck it.

  The mirror-pack looked benign. Lying upon the floor as it was, the only evidence that anything untoward had happened was the lifeless bird next to it. Holk gazed at the pack. With sunstone gleaming, he cautiously nudged the leather side with the tip of his sword.

  When nothing happened, he moved the sword’s tip to the flap and flipped it up so the pack lay fully opened. There was no light; not even the tiniest glimmer could be seen within any of the pouch’s pockets. The edges of the three mirrors were visible, but he couldn’t see anything different about them.

  Holk took a step back and considered the situation. Something had come out of the pack. Even if he thought he may have been hallucinating or had dreamt it, the dead bird dispelled any such notion. Eyes never leaving the inner pockets of the pouch, he came closer and again poked the side of the pack with his sword; nothing happened.

  Hooking the bottom of the pack with his sword, he gently upended it allowing the three handheld mirrors within to slide out.

  They looked unchanged. The red dot Kiernan had used to designate the one leading to the Prison Room remained unaltered. One by one, he used the tip of his sword to spread them apart until each lay flat upon the floor. Their reflective surfaces looked the same. He even tried moving the sunstone back and forth to see if there might be hidden imperfections that might be revealed. But there were none.

  The light had killed the bird. It had vanished back into the pack.

  Now that the mirrors were safely out, he hooked the pack by inserting his sword within an end pouch. He then lifted it off the floor, allowing the pack to fully open so he could inspect each of the eight pouches. When nothing unusual was found, Holk lowered his sword and allowed the pack to fall to the floor.

  If not the pack…

  His attention turned to the three mirrors lying upon the floor. They appeared as they always had; still, dark, and unremarkable. As far as he could see, there was nothing unusual about either their aspect or composition.

  Using the tip of his sword, he nudged the closest of the three then pulled back quickly. When nothing happened, he did the same to the next mirror. The third mirror, the one with the red dot designating it as the one that would return him to the Prison Room, proved just as unresponsive when it came its turn to be nudged.

  Holk sheathed his sword. Kneeling next to the pack, he picked it up with two fingers, ready to drop it at the slightest hint of light. The pack remained dark. He then set about gathering the mirrors.

  Treating each with great care, Holk gingerly reached out for the one closest to him. It was the one which would take him to Kazzra’s cave. He laid a finger upon the frame and when nothing happened, pulled it close. Before lifting it from the floor, he moved the sunstone behind his back to shield its light so he could inspect the reflective surface for any emission of light. Not finding any, he carefully picked up the mirror and slid it into the pack.

  The next was the one that would take him to the cave wherein laid the body of Kiernan. It, too, he treated with great care and after a close inspection, inserted it into the pack.

  As he reached for the third and final mirror, the one bearing the red dot, small points of light flared in each corner of its reflective surface. Jerking back his hand, Holk watched as each of the four dots elongated and stretched toward the mirror’s center. It took but seconds for the four bands of light to meet and erupt in a small, brilliant burst. As the light subsided, a worm-like appendage of pure light now protruded from the mirror’s center.

  Holk scrambled backward, sword leaping to hand.

  The light-worm grew with every beat of his heart. It moved back and forth as would a stalk of wheat blown by the wind. Upon reaching a foot in length, the light-worm’s end ceased its back and forth motion, and bent to touch the stone floor adjacent to the mirror.

  It didn’t move quickly; merely bobbed from one place to the next. For several minutes the light-worm continued as if inspecting its immediate surroundings. When it extended in Holk’s direction, its movement slowed and the end bobbed several times.

  He took another step backward, fearing that at any moment the light would leap forward as would a hound with a nose full of scent. But, the light merely bobbed for several heart-stopping moments before returning to its inspection of the area around the mirror. After another minute, the light-worm shrank back into the mirror and vanished.

  The mirror lay dark upon the floor. When a hesitant step forward failed to cause the light-worm to reappear, Holk took a second. Stretching forth his swordarm to its full length, he took small steps until the sword’s point came into contact with the mirror’s frame. A single nudge caused it to slide ever so slightly across the floor; but again, the light-worm failed to rematerialize.

  Keeping his distance from the mirror, Holk retrieved the pack holding the other two from where it sat upon the floor. He held it as he contemplated the mirror upon the floor.

  Should I leave it there? Dare I risk taking it with me? In a quandary as to what to do, he decided to see if the light-worm would reappear a second time before committing to any course of action. It could have been a singular happenstance.

  A full three paces from the mirror, he knelt to one knee and reached out his hand. Inch by inch he scooted ever nearer, poised to dart backward should the light reappear. At two paces away, the light had yet to return. When his hand came to within a foot and a half, the corners of the mirror flared with dots of light. They once again elongated to meet in the middle to form the light-worm.

  Holk scrambled backward until a solid six paces separated him from the mirror. Just as before, the light-worm sniffed the air then proceeded to inspect the stone floor surrounding it. Minutes ticked by as it made a thorough search; then receded back into the mirror.

  Once the mirror had gone dark, Holk moved closer and stretched his swordarm to its fullest until the sword tip touched the border near the red dot. The mirror remained unresponsive.

  It doesn’t appear for my sword. The two times it had emerged was when I reached for it with my hand. Glancing to the dead bird, he came to the conclusion that the light-worm came out for living flesh, not dead, cold steel.

  His attention moved from the bird to the mirror. But why that mirror and not the ones in the pack? And why now and not before? The mirror had been in his possession for some time and the light-worm never before materialized. Then something Streyan had said flittered across his thoughts:

  …the Starburst Gate would alter the rules for those who passed though…

  “Is that what happened to you?” he asked the mirror. “I went through the Arch and now you are altered?” He thought about that and nodded. It had to be the answer. “
You aren’t much good to me now, are you? I can’t even touch you without causing that light-worm thing to come.” Hating to do it but seeing no alternative, he raised his sword high, set to strike the mirror and shatter it into many pieces.

  Before the blow fell, the shattered mirrors from the hidden room came to mind. A dead man had lain upon the bed next to them. With sword poised to strike, the thought came to mind that perhaps the man may have died because he broke the mirrors. If he broke the mirror, would the light-worm be released? The only way to prove his theory was to smash the mirror. But if he was right, then he’d be dead, too. Afraid to find out, he sheathed his sword.

  He’ll regret losing the convenience of being able to return to the Prison Room whenever he wished, but he couldn’t afford to take the mirror. Without it, he would have to access the Prison Room via the network of mirrors from the room wherein Kiernan’s body lay.

  What about his two remaining mirrors? Will they, too, be infected by the light-worm? And if so, would he discover that fact too late?

  Had his need to use the mirrors in the event a quick getaway not been so great, he would have left all three on the floor of the Prison Room. But they had already proven their worth, primarily during his encounter with Kazzra the dragon. Escaping from a dragon’s mouth in mid-chomp couldn’t have been possible without them.