by Jason Parker
“There are no certainties,” Teylan responded. “I cannot dictate the future. I can only attempt to steer it in what I see as the correct direction. There is no precision in time, I can only say Nightlocke should be in Corava sooner rather than later. His being there leads to an important node in the alternative time streams. Countless paths exit from this node, but the majority result in a favorable future for Gandany. As I indicated before, Calvor is also important. Not so much because of his actions, but because he’s alive in an abundance of favorable futures and dead in most of the unfavorable.”
“The indigo gemmed medallion Nightlocke wears around his neck,” Dagan said tapping his chest. “I presume this was given to him by Calvor?”
“I did not view the actual exchange,” Teylan explained, “but I believe so. Some possible futures for Calvor previously showed it to be in his possession, but none do now. Most potential futures for Nightlocke now show him wearing the amulet. Before it was mixed. The amulet is something of a wild card. It does impact the future, but the permutations are murky and often contradictory. I do not fully understand its significance.”
Dagan nodded as he continued to move about the room. Teylan seemed to know everything and yet simultaneously knew nothing. Is it wise to place my faith and trust in him?
“Why is it that you care so much about us, about Gandany?” he asked.
“That’s a fair question,” Teylan replied. “As I told you, the place I live, the Nexus, is nothing like your world. It is a plane of existence beyond and between infinite numbers of worlds. There are many wonders here, but there is no civilization, no community, only my sister and me—and this vile vestige of my father. Your world is the only one with which we are able to establish an intimate connection and interact.”
He paused for a moment, but Dagan could somehow sense he had more to say, so remained quiet.
“Your world is our life,” Teylan confessed. “It’s really all we have.”
Dagan nodded. “I appreciate your honesty and will return it with some of my own. When we met a few months ago, I was voluntarily living as a recluse. A lonely dweller for many years—I was weary with the world and cared little about its affairs. I was ready for my life to be over.”
“I saw as much,” Teylan said.
Dagan sat and put his hands to his knees then looked up. “Despite my platitudes of gratitude to you and your father, I really have no idea why I agreed to mentor Nightlocke, but through him I have found a renewed sense of purpose. I don’t want this world to be consumed in a torment of chaos. I will do as you ask. I will see Nightlocke finds his way to Corava and I will see what can be done about ensuring the safety of Calvor.”
CHAPTER 24
“The High Priestess is here to see you, sir.”
Wexworth jumped at the sound of Jurg’s voice. He was completely engrossed in examining the results from the latest run of tests on his new prized specimen—one of the infected savages from the north.
He looked up from his desk and glanced past Jurg at the clock above his office door. He had lost track of the time. “Show her in at once,” he commanded. “It is highly impolite to keep the High Priestess waiting.”
Jurg nodded with a half-smirk and left the office. Wexworth returned his attention to his notes. The findings were incredible. The infection had a profound impact on the brain. The body still functioned physically, but all memories and personality traits were suppressed. He quickly gathered the papers and stuffed them in a desk drawer. Further analysis would have to wait. He was most anxious to reconvene with Lancia. The last meeting was cut short by his sudden “sickness.”
Jurg returned to the office along with the High Priestess. Wexworth smiled broadly as he laid eyes on her lustrous brown hair, smooth skin, and delicate features. It never ceased to amaze him how exquisitely perfect she was, even in the plain white garb of the clergy. He immediately rose to his feet, straightened his ruby-colored lab coat and smoothed his matching waistcoat. Stepping out from behind his desk, he gently reached for and raised Lancia’s hand and lightly kissed the back of it.
“As always, it is an absolute pleasure to see you, Lancia,” he said, releasing her hand.
Over Lancia’s shoulder he noticed Jurg hovering about with an inane expression on his face. “That will be all for now, Jurg. Please close the door as you leave,” he instructed.
Jurg grinned and left the office.
“It’s good to see you as well,” Lancia said with a smile that brightened the room. “I hope you are feeling better.”
“Yes, much, thank you for asking,” he smiled back. “That particular malady proved to be short-lived.”
“That’s good to hear,” she said, lightly patting his shoulder.
Her touch, though clearly an innocent gesture of compassion, excited him. He fought back the urge to take her in his arms.
“I assume you invited me here so we could resume our previous discussion,” she continued. “Will Lord Vergilus be joining us?”
“No, I was disappointed by his reaction to my brief but unfortunate condition,” he answered. “I’m afraid he cannot be trusted.”
Lancia gave him a quizzical look. “He was somewhat unsympathetic to your plight—but whether or not he should be trusted would depend upon…well, it would depend upon what this is all about.”
Wexworth sighed, smoothed his waistcoat and began pacing about the room.
“There’s a project I’ve been working on that you have not been privy to. We have much to discuss about it. But before we do, I have a rather unpleasant matter to, to, to bring up.” He was surprised by the stammer.
He stopped pacing and ran a hand across his clean shaven head. It was damp with perspiration. His vision became obscured by flickering spots of darkness and his legs were on the verge of buckling. He placed his hand on the edge of his desk to steady himself. This sudden affliction had nothing to do with his prior illness. These symptoms were a side effect of the brain fluid solution he had injected himself with.
The bouts of weakness were infrequent and brief, but perhaps he should have waited and performed further tests on lesser subjects. It was Vergilus’s fault. The scorn and derision Wexworth had received from him were revealing. They were not partners. Wexworth could not trust him and had no choice but to accelerate his plans.
“Wexworth,” Lancia said with a look of concern. “Are you sure you’re feeling better? You don’t look well. Maybe you should go to the infirmary.”
This episode was fading, but he continued to feign the persistence of weakness. “No, no,” he responded dramatically, “that would not do. The Priestess who works at the infirmary is…well...”
“You mean Jhenna?” she asked, rushing to his side and guiding him to his chair. “What about her? You know you can speak freely with me.”
“Thank you,” Wexworth smiled wanly as he eased himself into the chair. “I’m almost reluctant to mention it, but that Priestess, Jhenna, marched down here to my laboratory and all but accused me of poisoning a guardsman.”
“What reason would she have to do that?” she asked.
“It involves an incident that occurred shortly after I returned from my journey to Delon,” he said. “I was in the audience chamber recounting the events of my trip. You were there as well.”
“Yes, yes, I recall,” she nodded.
“Well, I’m sure you will also recall a guardsman fell ill outside the door and created quite a commotion,” he said as he moved a hand along his smooth head. This time his fingers remained dry.
“Of course,” she said with a bit of a shudder. “The poor guardsman cried out in considerable pain.”
“Yes,” he continued. “Apparently the guardsman convinced Priestess Jhenna I poisoned him. I know I am not popular amongst the castle staff, but to perpetrate such a vicious lie is unconscionable, and even more disappointing that a member of the clergy would believe it.”
“Don’t worry,” Lancia reassured as she moved behind the chair a
nd began to massage his shoulders. “I’ve been meaning to speak with Jhenna anyway. I’ll make sure she drops this foolishness and does not bother you again.”
“Thank you,” Wexworth sighed. He closed his eyes and gently moved his head from side to side. The rhythmic movement of Lancia’s fingers across the muscles of his neck and shoulders felt absolute exquisite and her touch aroused him once again.
The impromptu massage came to an abrupt end as Lancia moved around the desk and seated herself in the visitor’s chair opposite his. He desperately yearned for her to continue and almost uttered a pleading request but caught himself before opening his mouth. As he struggled to compose himself and stem his physical urges, he spied the hint of a wry smile crease her lips. It was fleeting, but enough to suggest she could sense his internal strife. He needed to be more careful, he needed to put his personal desires aside, he needed to win her over to what he was about to propose.
“It looks like you’re feeling better,” she said, once again favoring him with her captivating smile. “Are you able to tell me about this secret project you have been working on?”
Reassured by her smile and the warmth of her soft, radiant features, he cleared his throat and began. He told her how the wayward girl, Belene, with the remarkable gift for opening portals, came into the custody of Lord Vergilus. He described how Vergilus gave Belene to him to study and to gain an understanding of what lay beneath her gifts. He omitted the beatings and imprisonment from his explanation to Lancia. He then revealed to her how he used the information gathered from Belene to construct a device capable of opening portals.
“I am in the final stages of testing it,” Wexworth said then smiled.
“This is all quite amazing,” Lancia stammered, visibly stunned. “By the grace of Keyaul, I had no idea such a thing was even possible.”
Wexworth beamed, thrilled at having thoroughly impressed the High Priestess. He stood and smoothed his waistcoat. “I assure you…it is more than possible. It is a reality.”
“And the girl, Belene,” she asked. “What became of her?”
“After we collected all the necessary data from her, she was released as per the terms of her agreement with Lord Vergilus,” he lied and pursed his lips—slightly annoyed she had shifted the discussion away from his extraordinary device.
Lancia narrowed her eyes and stared at him. “You’re telling me the truth? The girl is no longer here?”
Wexworth shifted his gaze from her eyes and shuffled his feet. “No, no, I assure you she is long gone from my lab.”
He flicked his eyes back at her. Her stare remained intense. It was as if she was trying to pierce his soul. He spoke quickly. “Now as for my portal device, the final obstacle was discovering a means of opening a portal to a precise location. I…”
She raised her hand to cut him off. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but do you have any idea where Belene is now?”
“None whatsoever,” he said truthfully, becoming increasingly vexed with her continued preoccupation with the insufferable little bitch. He furrowed his brow. “Lord Vergilus guaranteed there would be no legal action taken against her in return for her cooperation.” Again, the truth.
She relaxed and smiled again. As she began to stand up, the sleeve of her robe caught the tail of a pen on his desk and knocked it to the floor. As she stooped to retrieve it, the overlapping sides of her robe separated and he was afforded an eyeful of her plump breasts. Again he felt the stirring of arousal and he desperately exerted his will to contain it.
“Can I see this amazing portal device you’ve created?” she asked as she stood and replaced the pen on the desk.
“Of course, of course. It would be my honor,” he replied cheerfully. He quickly marched to the door and opened it. Eyeing her closely as she walked by, he inhaled her scent as she stepped through the doorway.
Jurg slouched at a lab bench with his head propped in his hands staring at an unopen chemistry book. He gave them a cursory glance and then continued his examination of the book cover as if it were a masterpiece of art. Idiot, thought Wexworth as he directed Lancia toward an adjacent auxiliary lab to the left of his office.
Three of his technicians clad in smart-looking black lab coats scurried about checking gauges and making minor adjustments to his masterpiece. The central component of his marvelous device was a six foot by six foot brass frame enclosing the area in which portals could be opened to anywhere in the world. Surrounding the frame was an array of brass cylinders, copper pipes, and gauges through which various chemicals flowed and intermingled in a precise architecture. To the right of the frame, was a large incandium burner which powered a series of brass steam pumps and a complex gear array. At the forefront was a deeply polished brass control panel with a multitude of colorful switches, dials, meters, and gauges. Across the top of the panel, meticulously etched in bold flamboyant letters were the words Wexworth Station.
Pulling his eyes away from the device, he looked toward Lancia and was pleased to find her transfixed. Awe and wonder poured from her. He could feel it.
“Please, have a closer look,” he offered with a dramatic gesture toward the control panel.
Lancia was quick to oblige. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the device. When they reached the control panel, he inspected several of the meters and gauges and finally nodded in approval.
“Daak, is everything in order?” he called to one of the technicians.
“Yes sir,” Daak confirmed. “All systems are checked and ready to go.
“Excellent,” Wexworth said, turning toward Lancia. “Would you like to see a demonstration?”
“Yes, by all means,” she replied.
“As I started to tell you before,” he said, “the final obstacle to overcome was finding a means of opening a portal to a specific location. After the device was constructed and functional, I was able to open portals but to nowhere in particular. It was just a vast, dark nothingness. Rodents were sent through the portal, but none survived for more than a minute or two.”
He opted not to tell her about the human “volunteer” who had entered the portal. He’d suffered the same fate as the rats.
“A form of input was needed to administer instructions to the device,” he continued. “I re-examined Belene’s chemical analysis in the hope of finding something I had overlooked. After a series of initial frustrations, I seized upon some brain fluid chemicals I originally discarded as inconsequential to her portal ability.”
“Brain fluid chemicals,” Lancia repeated.
“Yes, these particular chemicals are common in all human brain fluid, so I initially deemed them unimportant. However, a second examination revealed something I missed. The chemicals in Belene’s brain fluid formed unique compounds. I developed a theory that if these compounds could be replicated they could then be introduced into a test subject's brain and interact with the intrinsic brain fluids. Then if the subject focused his thoughts on a specific location the brain's cognitive center could create an impulse with an imprint of the locus.”
“I confess, I don’t understand half of what you’ve said, but I’ll take your word for it,” Lancia said with a grin.
"Sorry, I do tend to get carried away," Wexworth said with a chuckle. He cleared his throat. "I'll cut to the chase. Replicating the compounds in Belene's brain fluid proved to be simple. More challenging was creating a device to capture the locus impulse and transfer it to the portal device. Eventually, I constructed this."
Wexworth pointed toward an object hanging from a hook on the right side of the control panel. It was a headpiece comprised of a semi-circular brass band which wrapped around the back of the head of the wearer from ear to ear. From each end of the band, four quarter-inch wide rigid copper wires of varying lengths extended from each end of the band, terminating in half- inch diameter copper disks. The wires were arranged so two disks rested on the temples, one on the forehead, and the final one on the top of the head. Two additional pairs of thinner, more fl
exible copper wire, twisted together, trailed from each side of the brass band and connected to the control panel.
Lancia frowned. “So you’ve actually injected this substance into someone’s brain and hooked them up to this headpiece? That sounds dangerous.”
“Scientific breakthroughs do often require a degree of risk,” Wexworth replied. He stroked his goatee. Sometimes a few sacrifices are required. His first test subject’s head had exploded moments after being fitted with the headpiece. Wexworth’s favorite emerald colored lab coat had been ruined. Wexworth wanted to revive him from the dead and kill him again with his own hands.
With his second test subject he significantly reduced the concentration of the compounds in the brain fluid solution. Using the headpiece this individual briefly opened a portal to the main lab, but it flickered and did not stabilize. When prompted to concentrate harder, the subject shook and convulsed until his heart stopped.
Upon postmortem examination of the subject’s brain fluid, Wexworth found an incompatibility between the subject’s native fluid and the injected solution. He postulated the problem could be rectified by combining a sample of the next subject’s brain fluid with the solution prior to injection.
“The first two trials were unsuccessful,” Wexworth said, sparing the High Priestess the details, “However, the third attempt has proven to be quite effective.”
“Did one of these technicians receive the successful injection?” she asked looking around the lab.
“No, I elected to receive the injection myself,” he responded, smoothing his waistcoat.
“Wexworth!” she exclaimed. “How could you do such a thing? It’s very brave of you, but what if something had gone wrong?”
“I was quite confident in my revised formulation and I felt a sense of urgency after Lord Vergilus’s regrettable reaction to my embarrassing ailment,” he said.
Lancia began to object, but he raised a hand to silence her. “I will hear you out momentarily but, please, once we travel through the portal to our destination, I believe all will become clear.”