The Python of Caspia

by Michael Green

He reached out.

  “Wait!” Pythia hissed, before laying a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t be wrong.”

  He felt his stomach sink, and the hair on his neck stood up straight.

  “We need to think,” Pythia said, more calmly. “Is the optometrist a traitor?”

  “He betrays the Seers to the ryle.”

  Pythia nodded, “Yes, but what were the exact words?” She unfolded the haggard piece of cloth and read, “A beloved traitor among us—in bone columns astride—born to see violet eyes.”

  “‘A beloved traitor,’ it says. That must be him,” Andy pointed to the figure holding the lens.

  “Yes, but accusing him of being a traitor.” She shook her head. “That is a very definite crime. To betray implies there was once loyalty.”

  They stood in silence for a long moment.

  She’s right. The eye physician was a stranger, not a Seer. How could they expect him to be loyal? He thought back to Ropt. There’s no way the optometrists are beloved these days.

  “Were the optometrists always enemies?” Andy asked, “Even if they regretted what they had done later, were they ever loyal to the Seers?”

  Pythia took a moment before speaking, “They betrayed their own species certainly, but had they ever declared loyalty to the Seers? I think not.”

  “Did they?” Andy paused, thinking back to the quote from Rembrandt’s painting. “Were the optometrists ryle from the start? If so, they never betrayed us, they simply served their own side.”

  They stood, quietly considering.

  “Take your hand off that lever.” Pythia said cautiously.

  “Yes.” Andy did so. He shivered, thinking about what might have happened, and regretted rushing.

  He looked to the ground in frustration. “I—”

  There on the floor was a violet eye. It looked straight through him.

  Andy stepped back. “Do you see anything there?” He pointed to the floor.

  “Nothing.”

  Andy saw another eye far above, on the ceiling. It was looking off at an angle. Andy followed the glance, he rounded a column and looked closely. There! Another eye hidden among a feast.

  “I think the key is in the word beloved,” Pythia mused.

  “The eye. The violet eye itself.”

  Pythia looked at him questioningly. “Do you see the eye?”

  “Yes, it’s here,” he pointed. “It’s hidden throughout the hall.”

  “But is it the answer? Is it the beloved traitor?”

  “Read the last line again.”

  “‘Born to see violet eyes.’”

  That’s it!

  “There’s a stop missing! Born to see, violet eyes. The violet eye must be the traitor! It unveils itself when it opens.” Andy was ecstatic.

  “Are you sure?” Pythia sounded excited, though still cautious.

  “The violet eye is loyal to its owner. It can’t help being loyal, but, by its nature, its color, it also betrays.”

  Pythia was quiet for a while. “Astute.”

  Andy understood the puzzle and followed the eyes. Each looked to the next, leaving a trail to follow. They led him on a chaotic path through the hall.

  He found them carefully hidden behind foliage, or among a flurry of blades and shields. More than once he was sure that he had it wrong, but, despite his doubt, it was clear that they were being led out of the hall.

  “Are you sure you went the right way? Maybe you are working backwards—Lysander?”

  Andy pointed to the door they had come in from, what seemed like many agonizing hours ago.

  “Lysander! This is ridiculous, you’re going the wrong way.”

  Andy followed the eye’s glance and ignored Pythia’s complaints.

  “This has to be it.”

  They exited the hall. Not twenty steps ahead Andy saw an Infiniteye staring squarely at him.

  “What? I would have seen that on the way in.”

  Pythia scoffed, taking Andy’s surprise for a confirmation of their heading in the wrong direction. “You see! As I said!”

  Andy turned around to look in the direction the eye faced: back into the hall.

  His eyes widened in shock. Pythia saw this, turned, and stifled a scream.

  The massive hall they had just come from was gone, and what beckoned in its place was stark, empty space.

  Chapter 15

  The Juncture

  “Nothing’s there,” Andy said, unbelieving.

  “So it seems,” Pythia whispered, stepping closer to the void. Grinning, she said, “That giant door was a trick. Can you imagine the ryle, choking to death in a room so aligned to the Argument, flailing about for centuries while trying to find the right lever?” She chuckled and slipped her hand through the doorway. It disappeared, as if submerged, and reappeared just as easily.

  “Be on your guard, there may be something unfriendly on the other side,” She said.

  “Do you know that—or is this just another guess?” Andy asked.

  Pythia avoided his stare. “I knew the people who built this place,” she said, her arms crossed. “A century old rumor implied that bloody treason was the last thing seen in this Juncture.”

  Pythia ran a hand up her neck and looked away.

  “Well, since you knew the people who built the place, why didn’t you know about the eyes in the hall, or the riddle about the traitor? You even tried to stop me from going the right way.”

  She was silent and ponderous. Andy doubted he could trust what she might say.

  “I expect a different riddle appears to every person who walks that hall. Therefore, the path is different every time.” She clasped her hands together. “How could I know them all?”

  That might be true.

  Andy crossed his arms. “Okay, fine. But look, as far as I’m concerned, I’ve done my job. Here is your opened door. I’m leaving now. I’m going to find Letty and go back home.”

  Pythia stood quietly.

  No argument? Maybe she won’t try to stop me.

  Andy turned and headed towards the stairs.

  “Your service isn’t complete!” she snapped.

  Andy continued, ignoring her.

  She followed. He heard a clatter of rapid footsteps.

  “I—I need your help.”

  Andy nearly tripped, trying to get away from her.

  “Look!” she growled, grabbing Andy by his hair and stopping him dead in his tracks.

  Andy tugged, but it was like pulling against a brick wall.

  He stopped resisting, but she held on tight.

  “Do you mind?” he asked.

  “Will you listen?” she retorted. It was more of a command, but her usual tone of complete certainty had given way.

  Andy sighed. “Yes.”

  She released her grip.

  He turned to face her, and suddenly realized he was still looking through silver eyes. He held out a hand and felt the Silversight leave his vision. His palm glowed. On a whim he tightened his grip, and the blade appeared. The sudden shift back to regular sight was alarming, but not as alarming as how comfortable the Silversight had felt by the end.

  With his vision normalized, he could see her face again. Her steely contempt from the day before was miles away.

  Something about the change made Andy feel a combination of anxiety and revulsion.

  She’s scared—she’s actually scared to go in there without me. So what? I don’t have to go along. I owe her nothing more.

  She took a breath and looked at the blade. Her brow rose in annoyance.

  Andy rolled his eyes and loosened his grip. The blade disappeared and the Argument rested in his palm.

  Finally satisfied, Pythia addressed him seriously, “Of course you can leave—take your sad girl back home. I won’t even void our agreement for your failure to live up to its terms. Recall that the service is complete when I say it is.”

  Andy narrowed his gaze, confused.

  “Yes, you should be perplexed,
and far more than you are now. What if you have your way? What if you leave the Netherscape this hour?”

  “So far, this all sounds great,” Andy said.

  “Ziesqe, you idiot! You’ve insulted him, face to face. You humiliated his warriors, killed them even. He knows you—he’s spoken to your family. He can find you, and worse yet: You live in his jurisdiction. He can do anything he likes, to you or them.”

  “How do you know all this? Is it just more educated guessing, like back in the hall?” Andy blustered.

  “Yes, I was wrong, yes, you have me at a disadvantage, yes, I need you, and yes, you’ll get your damned way! But please, be dignified about it. Your pettiness disgusts me.” She looked away, biting at her clenched palm, as if unsure about whether she should go on.

  Andy felt his face redden.

  She took his silence as a cue to continue. “I know this because Ziesqe told me himself.” She let that sink in. “Do you remember the moment you returned the crossbow to that spider of his? That was when he told me the names of your parents. He even shared what he’d do to you, should you lose my protection.”

  “And what is that?” Andy asked, resigned.

  Here comes a lie, she’ll say anything to keep me here.

  Pythia’s eyes glazed over. A moment later they were solid amber. She stared at Andy and, with every passing moment, her face contorted further and further into agony.

  Is she having a vision?

  “There are two paths before you. One is with me, and the other—if you go now you will be captured. His servants will feed you, clothe you, and even calm your suspicions, but, and despite this warning, you will fall asleep, and when you do, it will begin. You will be given a certain drug to keep you asleep, and another to make you dream. Finally, through the use of arcane machinery, he will control what you see in those dreams.”

  Andy blinked, astonished.

  “So far, this is standard practice for them. But let me repeat that for you: You will be chained down and locked into a nightmare machine. This he would do for any captured Seer he didn’t plan to give to me, but here is where he becomes particular. Here is where he gives you more attention.”

  Pythia paused. Andy felt that his throat had tightened and even if he could speak, he wouldn’t know what to say.

  She continued, “He will sit at your side for hours at a time, testing your character, seeing what you love and hate, what makes you proud and ashamed. He will grow close to you, he will come to know and even admire you. But that which is best in you will become a point of unease for him. He will make you fight monsters. When you die bravely, he will scoff. When he has run out of ways to kill you, he will modify the punishment. He will foolishly make you suffer his own worst fears. Equally foolishly, you will find them laughable. This will make him hate you and he will become certain that you are something else.”

  Pythia’s eyes flashed, and he nearly gasped at the sight.

  She cast her glance down and spoke in a whisper, “He will make of your next coming another vainglorious cataclysm. That is as far as I can see.”

  Andy’s breath stopped, a tightness in his throat.

  Her eyes cleared, and her face took on a look of overwhelming pity. She continued, “His ego will never be satisfied, and though you will lose your ability to understand, your suffering will not end.”

  “How is that possible!” Andy yelled. “Do you think I’m stupid?” He wiped tears from his eyes before they could fall.

  “I’m sorry!” she snapped, crossing her arms and hiding her face. She choked back a sob.

  Andy stared at her in a fury, she met his eyes and he searched her face. For a terrible moment he saw she had meant every word.

  His legs trembled. He reached out for the wall, but fell to his knees.

  She reached down and grabbed his arm, but he kept crumbling as his strength left.

  He felt his throat burning and his eyes watering. He opened his mouth to curse her, but found that nothing would come out.

  She bent down and wrapped her arms around him. Her fall of hair encircled his face, and he felt her breath, as shaky as his own, down the back of his neck.

  He wanted to struggle, but felt that if he moved at all, he might burst out in tears. Biting down on his cheeks, he tried to convince himself that she was lying.

  “Why?” he asked, choking back the urge to cry. “Why would he do it?”

  “I can’t tell you why, but only that it has happened before, many times,” Pythia concluded, as if it were consolation.

  “This will happen if I turn around and leave right now,” Andy said to himself.

  “There is another way,” she responded.

  “That was a prophecy,” Andy said flatly, as if he hadn’t heard her.

  She was silent.

  “That’s what you do for him? That is what he traded Letty for?”

  She stood and wiped her face.

  Andy pulled himself to his feet and waited for an answer.

  None came.

  “What do I do?” he asked.

  “There might be something we can use in the Juncture, just a few steps away.” She held out her hand for him to take. “Some of your future will not change, but much of it can.”

  His head was spinning. He didn’t know what else to do, so he took her hand.

  She walked him to the empty space and nearly stepped through before pausing. “The Argument can’t go in here.”

  Andy’s hand instinctively went for his pocket, but he saw nothing duplicitous in Pythia’s face, and let himself relax.

  “Why can’t the Argument go in?”

  “The Juncture is a place of neutrality. Neither one power nor the other can exist there. Though those who have become committed may travel the Juncture, any bound artifact will simply refuse to pass. You’re going to have to leave it here, on the steps. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and try to push it through.”

  Andy felt nervous at the prospect of leaving his only defense behind.

  This little marble has saved my life. It’s my only defense in this place, but after all that she said...

  Andy held the Argument between two fingers and slowly moved it towards the doorway. It stopped, as if pressed against a solid wall. Andy tried his empty hand, and it slipped through without resistance.

  “It’s cold on the other side,” he said, half to himself, as goosebumps ran up his arm.

  He tried the Argument again, with more force. Eventually it slipped and a shearing sound made him jump back.

  “Please, be careful!” Pythia said, stepping forward.

  The Argument had rent what looked like a claw mark across the surface of the blank space. The mark slowly faded. Pythia had been honest; the Argument wouldn’t pass.

  Andy took off his cloak and wrapped the little orb within. Though he hated to do this, he doubted anyone would find it.

  He left it on the first step and turned back. Pythia took his hand, and they stepped through.

  Andy saw nothing, but felt a strong chill creep up his limbs.

  “What now?” he asked, hearing her bated breath.

  “This.” She snapped her fingers.

  Nothing happened.

  “That’s odd.” She tried again.

  Nothing.

  Andy’s eyes slowly focused, and he saw small specks of shimmering light all around.

  “Look—I think they’re stars. We’re outside.”

  In that instant, a burst of light appeared.

  “Sunrise,” Andy said, astonished.

  They were floating in space.

  Pythia advanced. Her footsteps tapped, as if walking on a hard, smooth surface.

  “Wait—this isn’t possible,” Andy said imploringly.

  “It is a fiction, certainly, but why do you say it is impossible?”

  Andy looked at her, his mouth nearly agape. “We’re out in space. We should be dead,” he paused, considering her uniqueness, “well, I should be. But besides that, there would be less
gravity this high up, we might just float off this platform. It should be far, far colder, and—” he paused, distracted by what Pythia was approaching.

  “Hmm. I’ve seen this surfacer fiction before, yet never heard it described as so lethal.” She swept her hand over a nearly translucent crystalline table.

  Andy hadn’t spotted it, distracted by the immensity of space. His eyes traveled the surface of the table and he realized it was enormous. It was surrounded by equally translucent, high-backed crystal chairs. The table likely seated one hundred, or more.

  “I am also galled by this place,” Pythia said, feeling at a speck on the table. “It isn’t responding to my push, and—” She wiped away a dark spot.

  “What is it?” Andy asked.

  She held up her finger. “Blood stains this table. Ryle blood.”

  Andy walked along the table, with a hand outstretched to keep from smacking into the almost invisible furniture. He felt his feet crunch, and noticed a chair was missing. “Someone shattered a chair—and there’s another.”

  Further along, the table had been fire-stained, and almost every chair lay toppled or shattered.

  “What was this place?” Andy asked, a tremor running up his spine as he nearly slipped on still wet blood and broken glass.

  “They met here. Emissaries from both sides of the conflict. Though there are no bodies, the meeting clearly didn’t succeed. It might also explain—” She held her palm up and focused.

  “It might explain what?”

  She ignored him, and a spark jolted above her palm.

  “The Juncture is nearly impossible to fold.”

  Andy stepped back, annoyed. “I’m just guessing, but this isn’t what you were hoping to find, is it?”

  Pythia lowered her palm.

  “What should we have found?” Andy asked.

  She sighed. “So much changed when I looked away. This place was marvelous. If you had the knack, and few did, you could conjure up anything imaginable, and then some.” Much to Andy’s amazement, she smiled. “I might have gotten carried away once or twice and stayed for a few years.” She waved her hand and a few dozen pieces of broken glass rustled away. “Now I can barely raise the wind.”

  “You wanted to come here to play?” He paused and felt that thought settle. “Really? Goblins died—they sat there on that beach for who knows how long—so you could play make-believe.”