by D. H. Dunn
Crystal color must match portal, Wanda scribbled in her notes.
“And then? What else must be performed?”
“Nothing else,” Merin said with a light laugh. It was a soft sound, as if she was unused to making it. “The portal will remain open for a duration; the larger the crystal the longer the time.”
“That’s it?” Wanda had pictured some arcane-seeming ceremony, perhaps with men in cloaks and ritualized chanting. She had expected to fill pages of notes with the process.
“Simple, as I said. You may carry the crystal through the portal and it will be consumed by the transit, a colorless shell in your hand. If you shatter a crystal in close proximity it will have the same result.”
The green mists swirled around inside the oval, Wanda reached out with her fingertips, stopping just above the surface.
“And if I have no crystal?”
With a speed that surprised her, Merin grabbed Wanda’s wrist and pushed it toward the portal. Her cry died in her throat as her fingers met the emerald clouds and encountered strong resistance. It was like pushing into thick mud, mud that pushed back against her flesh.
“With no crystal, you cannot enter. The surface would seem as vapor, but it may as well be the stone that surrounds it.”
Wanda pulled her hand back, the green mist clinging to it for a moment before releasing her. She rubbed the fingers with her other hand, feeling a slight residue of moisture upon them.
Her brain had become an engine now, charging forward at an excited pace. She picked her notebook up and began writing again while moving to the next logical question.
“If the wrong color crystal interacts, is it the same result?”
Merin shook her head, dark strands of hair waving in front of her furrowed brows. “The most dangerous action,” she said, her voice becoming grave, “the one rule you must not break, the first instruction my queen gave me: never use the wrong color.”
Wanda wrote the words in her notebook, taking time to capitalize and underline them. “The obvious question is why? What will occur?”
“It will create what Upala called ‘disharmony.’ The flow between the Outs will not be constant, as if a small stream meets a raging river. One current overcomes the other. The area will become a vortex, violently pulling all material within reach into the portal with a strength defying all resistance. Then the portal itself will collapse. It may be seasons before it is passable again.”
The lead from Wanda’s pencil flew across the page, the point getting dull from the many notes she was taking. Yet as Merin had said, the basic concept seemed quite easy. Match the color or else there were problems.
Wanda felt her pulse quicken as her mind sifted through the details. It was not hard to imagine the possibilities that might lie beyond the mists of these swirling gateways. An uninhabited Earth with virgin oil fields, or limitless agricultural options. Unknown livestock. Scientific discoveries.
A nation that controlled this technology would be powerful, indeed.
It was all here. This is why you led me here, Papa! Her heart began to pound as she considered the implications.
A portal to the Under was present on Everest, and the know-how and materials to harness the other portals was also present in the Under. She would need Merin to teach her how the portals were used, but beyond that she could experiment if needed. The woman seemed to know everything she required, everything that was needed to pass to and from the Under.
Wanda frowned. Her mind began handling the information in new ways, twisting it into different contexts and examining Merin’s assertions in the light of what Wanda had already observed.
Something didn’t add up.
“Yet even in my short time here,” Wanda said, again trying to keep her tone level, she didn’t want Merin to feel accused, “we have seen events that run contrary to this. Portals opening and closing on their own, for example. Why is this?”
“Another simple and complex question. I have observed this myself, and other incidents here where the portals do not follow the rules I have been taught. Without my queen to consult, I can only offer my theory.”
“Theory” is an interesting word choice, Wanda thought. She knew Merin had been an attendant, which did not sound scientific. Yet she possessed a very methodical air, one which made Wanda feel more at ease around her.
“My queen might know more,” Merin said, “but to me the rules of the portals do not seem to apply to this Under. More specifically, the portals seem to be falling outside of those rule’s control. The Under is no Out, it is the place between them. There should be no portals here; this fact was taught to me by Upala.”
“Yet they seem to be everywhere here.”
Merin nodded. “Scattered with haphazard throughout the Under. All brought with us during the translation. Passengers along with my queen’s library, where she had opened hundreds of them in her study. My theory is that the Under is corrupting them, rejecting them, and slowly they are becoming unstable and winking out. They become inert; doors forever closed.”
Wanda placed the end of her pencil in her mouth, chewing it as she thought. The portal they had come through from Nepal, when she had awoken it was simply an oval of smooth stone.
“And when they have all become inert?” The question and its answer were obvious, yet Wanda found she could not restrain herself. “Then there will be no escape from this Under?”
Merin nodded. “My queen’s brother Kater controls the only route down to the Library where Upala is trapped. Only her lore may be great enough to stabilize or reopen our routes home.”
Wanda stopped writing, her pencil frozen in mid-sentence. Even with the portals becoming unstable, most she had seen looked like the one next to her. Stable, colored ovals filled with mist, doorways simply awaiting the next matching crystal. A hundred or more doors, waiting for them to go through.
Why had she and Kaditula not returned to their world? Why were the Others still here?
“You cannot find the portal back to your home,” Wanda said slowly.
Merin nodded, looking down at her feet. “You might think me knowledgeable in this lore, Wanda, but I am a child in the dark. Only Upala has the light with which to find the path home. Our own attempts to explore the portals we can reach inside this Under have been disastrous. I suspect Kater’s people―these Others―have met the same impasses.”
Wanda sighed. “Your queen, Upala, she kept that knowledge to herself. To protect her power.”
“Power. That is how you view the portals.” An edge returned to Merin’s voice. “You wish to bring the knowledge of them into your Out. To fight for your home?”
Wanda found Merin’s expression difficult to read. “Yes.” She dropped her pencil and notebook into her satchel. She caressed the side of it absently, feeling the emblem she had imprinted there. The white eagle, symbol of her homeland. “For my home. My Poland.”
“You have family, back in this Poland?” Merin asked. “Someone waiting for you? Someone who you wish to free?”
“No,” Wanda said. “I have no family. They are dead, gone. All of them.” Now, even Papa was gone. She truly was alone.
“Then you fight for ghosts,” Merin said. “You fight for legacies and memory. Not an unjust cause.”
Stepping closer, Merin pulled up the sleeve of her tunic, showing Wanda two small bands inked into her skin. They were made from a series of dots and lines, a newer one, green, and a faded one, blue. She pointed to the blue one first.
“This is the mark of my daughter, Arix. She was Kad’s and my first. She has his eyes and his smile. Last I saw Arix, her height was up to my waist, or her father’s shoulder.” She laughed, though there was little mirth in it. She pointed to the green pattern. “My son, Lam. Born just before I was summoned to Upala.
“If I survived three cycles as her Attendant, they would be returned to us, and us to them. Unlike Kad and me, they were left in our village under the care of Queen’s guard. They are still there, I k
now it. They are waiting for us to come home to them.”
Wanda took the woman’s offered arm, running her fingertips along the marks. Her children were kept by this Upala. Her love for someone used against her. Her family had made her vulnerable.
Was that worth the joy of a baby in her arms? she wondered. Did the laugh of a sibling make up for the pain of the loss later? Did the kiss of Merin’s husband counterbalance the loss of her freedom?
“I am sorry,” Wanda said. “I know losing someone can be devastating.”
“They are not lost,” Merin said, pulling her arm from Wanda’s grasp. “I will not give up my battle to get back to them, nor will Kad. I admire your passion for your cause, but do not mistake me for weak.”
Wanda stopped, her jaw open. No words would issue forth, what could she say? Merin seemed to see her own vulnerability as a strength.
“You fight for ghosts, woman of Poland.” Merin said, walking back toward the camp. “I fight for blood.”
12
“Willpower you cannot buy with money or be given by others. It rises from the heart.”
—Junko Tabei
Wanda could smell the food back at the camp before she could see who was awake or what was being prepared. It had an earthy odor, familiar yet unlike any she had experienced before. Her stomach growled its interest, having had little but honey and dry rations since leaving Nima’s temple.
Merin had left her to finish her study of the portal, yet Wanda had made no more notes on her pad. She had wandered the back of the cavern, thinking about what the woman had said. She had no doubt about her own convictions, no concerns about conflicts. Still, when she had found worm holes in the rear of the chamber, she decided not to take them. Almost with a mind of their own, her legs walked her back to the camp, forcing further connections with Nima and Drew.
She supposed there would be value in accompanying on their scouting of the Others. The Others were actively using the portals, which opened an opportunity for more observation. That was all the reason she needed.
Sitting by the side of the brook, she could now see Drew and Nima sitting together, each of them consuming bowls of whatever she had smelled, their packs were now filled with new supplies. Behind them, Kaditula paced back and forth, looking as if he were trying out new boots.
Nima set her bowl down upon sighting her, running over to her with a wide grin and calling her name. Nima reminded her of Ludmilla, her middle sister; they both shared the same short height and cheerful disposition. Like Nima, Ludmilla had raven dark hair and a smile for life’s mysteries.
Another memory she had tried to keep locked up.
“Wanda!” Nima said, “I was so worried you might have left us. Drew thought you had gone off, but I knew you wouldn’t do that. Just off writing notes in your book, I’m sure.”
“Exactly correct,” Wanda said, suppressing a sigh. She really was too much like Ludmilla. “What is it you are eating?” A change of subject, but one her stomach agreed with.
“Something Ham made,” Nima said, taking Wanda’s hand, and leading her back to the circled group and sitting her on the ground. “I don’t know what it is; it is from Korea.”
Wanda sat next to Drew, who gave her a look but said nothing more. Kad hurried over with a bowl, which Wanda accepted and peered into with suspicion. Some sort of mushroom soup, but very different from the green mixture Merin had served the day before. The aroma spoke of vegetables and seasoning. Wanda wondered where they could have been acquired.
“We’ll be leaving soon to get Pasang,” Nima said, excitedly spooning more of the soup into her mouth. Wanda brought her own spoon to her lips and sampled it. The soup was thick and hearty, with a little heat from the spices. It was not unpleasant.
“Scout for Pasang, not necessarily rescue him. It might not be today,” Drew said, looking up from his bowl. “We need to be careful, Nima. We can’t just charge in there.”
“Like Pasang charged in to Jang’s tent? On advice from you?” Nima asked hotly, and Drew winced. The Sherpa girl quickly punched Drew in the shoulder lightly. “A joke, big brother.”
“Thanks,” Drew said. “Just tell me you’ll behave when you see him.”
“I will,” Nima said. Wanda noticed the girl had soup around the corners of her mouth. “Wanda will make sure, right?”
“Of course,” Wanda said after a cough. “We all have to be careful.”
Ham sat beside them, two bowls of soup in his hands. One he kept for himself, the other he handed to Nima, who took the bowl immediately. Drew chuckled.
Wanda noticed Ham was wearing a fresh uniform, presumably from his Korean military. The bottoms of his boots were newly cleaned, each button shined. A small pack was strapped to his back, the straps pulled snug. She had not expected the man would accompany them to scout the Others’ camp. He looked up at her from his soup, noticing her stare. She felt heat flush into her cheeks.
“The soup,” Wanda said, disappointed she could not force more strength into her voice, “it is quite good.”
“It is beoseot,” Ham said, looking back at his bowl as his voice cracked. “It was my wife’s specialty at her restaurant. Back when she had one. My version is not as good as hers.”
“It reminds me of a soup my grandmother used to make,” Wanda said. “I would eat bowl after bowl of it when we’d visit her home in Warsaw.”
“Warsaw,” Ham said. “So, you are from the Soviet Union?”
“No.” Wanda said. “I am from Poland. Warsaw is in Poland.”
Ham shook his head. “Not where I am from. Warsaw is a Soviet city. Some of the ICBM strikes against Pusan came from there.” He chewed again, taking a moment to swallow another mouthful. “I’ve never heard of Poland.” Clutching his bowl, Ham stood and walked away from the gathering.
“What’s an ICBM?” Drew asked, yet Wanda’s mind barely heard him. She stared at the flaps of the closed tent, occupied by a man whose world was just as real and valid as her own. A world where everything she cared for was already lost. A world where Wanda Dobrowolski had nothing to fight for.
She stood and turned away from the group, folding her arms and staring off into the darkness. Tears welled in her eyes, but, fortunately, only Wanda knew they were there.
Hours had passed, yet Ham’s words still echoed through Wanda’s thoughts as if he had just spoken them.
Struggling to follow Kaditula along yet another winding passage through the Under, Wanda tripped on a loose stone, barely catching herself in time. A few steps behind, she could hear Drew’s reaction, an intake of breath she suspected was concern. She had shared few words with the American since the attack by Vihrut, despite the attempts by Drew to engage her.
She did not have time to think about Drew now. It would be a challenge to keep pace with Kaditula even if she were well-focused, but her mind kept wandering back to the camp. Though she had tried every method she could think of, Wanda could not get Ham’s words out of her head.
He had never heard of Poland. She knew Ham was from an Earth ravaged by atomic war, one where the world powers had waged war against each other while standing on Korea’s soil. A fate not that different from her own lands. It was possible the knowledge of Poland simply had not reached Ham. After all, she knew little of Korea.
It was also possible that, in Ham’s world, her culture had been simply wiped from existence. What the Germans had started, the Soviets had finished. She gripped her satchel more tightly. Her best chance to keep that fate from befalling her own world lay on the penciled scribblings within.
“Mind the drop,” Kaditula said, giving her just seconds to react to a sudden change in the floor elevation, causing her to nearly trip again on the wet rocks.
Having to walk in compressed and damp conditions was starting to become second nature to Wanda inside Everest’s Under. The passage Kaditula had them slowly shuffling along was cramped and wet, but at least she didn’t have to bend over.
Kaditula paused at a stalactite,
their path splitting into two. He examined the blue, moss-like covering on the stone for a moment, then headed into the left passage, motioning them to follow.
Wanda was disappointed Kaditula’s chosen path quickly had her hunching over again while the shorter man was still able to walk upright.
“You only looked at that moss for a second, Kad. Are you sure this is the right way?” Nima asked.
“I am the scout here, young Nima,” Kaditula said, with his customary humor. “There is little you could do to advise me if I was wrong.”
“Kaditula, your spouse mentioned to me you both worked for Upala.” Wanda said, dodging a spray of water trickling down the left side of the passage wall. Perhaps if she spoke to the man, he might slow his pace a little. If nothing else, it gave her mind something else to work on. “‘Scout’ sounds like an official position. How did you acquire it?”
“It was my wife, the beautiful Merin, Upala wanted, not me. When we were summoned, she was to be the spell-queen’s attendant. I was asked what I could offer. I can find things, I replied. It was a silly boast, who among us cannot find things?”
“My father,” Wanda said. “My mother used to say there was nothing he could not lose.” She smiled, relishing the rare cheerful memory of her parents.
“That is humor,” Kaditula said with a chuckle, stepping across a pool of water as he spoke, his boots carefully landing on specific stones. Wanda copied his movements, slowing her progress to make sure Drew could follow her.
“Merin says she thought she saw the spell-queen smile at my answer,” he continued. “I saw no such change, but the next day I was scouting for her. She and Merin needed crystals shed by the Yeti, so I found them crystals. Then they needed graystone, so I found graystone. If it would help my Merin and protect my children, I would find it.”
“It sounds like you were very useful to your queen.” Wanda put both hands along the walls to steady herself as the ceiling lowered even more. The damp moss was cool and slick under her palms.