by Dorian Hart
“What do you want, Kibilhathur Bimson?”
The question took him by surprise. He could think of many possible answers. He wanted the Crosser’s Maze. He wanted to get out of Calabash and back to Charagan. He wanted to save the world from Naradawk Skewn. More generally, he wanted his life to make even an ounce of sense. He’d even settle simply for knowing what in all the hells was going on most of the time.
Solomea watched him as he thought. He returned his withered arm to the folds of his robe, a weary, distant look in his eyes.
Pity welled in Kibi’s heart. “I want to help you.”
“You what?” Solomea looked at him sharply. “Nonsense. What a self-serving answer! You only want to help me so I’ll give you what you desire. Such nobility!”
His voice was mocking, but his eyes were pleading.
“I can see plain that you’re conflicted ’bout all this. There’s a part a’ you that wants to give up the maze, and another part that wants to keep it. But you’re trapped in the thing as much as we are, and I don’t see how it’s doin’ you any good.”
“You don’t?” Solomea sneered. “The entirety of the universe is mine to explore, its power mine to draw upon, its secrets open to me, but your imagination is beggared as to how I benefit? Calling you a half-wit would be offering you half a wit too many.”
“I ain’t never claimed great intelligence,” Kibi said calmly, “but you told Ivellios that gettin’ drawn into Calabash did you some damage. And now that Mazzery fellah is usin’ you while your body is just lyin’ somewhere. You used to be a Keeper, right? But now you don’t really count, stuck in here. It burns you up that your order a’ great librarians is fallin’ apart. Maybe one of us could right the ship, as it were.”
“And would that be you, Kibilhathur Bimson?” Solomea asked this not with derision, but with a calm intensity, as though he sat in judgment waiting for an answer.
“Oh, hells no,” said Kibi. “That would be like askin’ a squirrel to build a castle. Sounds like you need to be a wizard to understand how the maze works. I reckon Aravia’s the one you oughta give it to, and she’ll take the thing back to Abernathy.”
“So that’s it,” said Solomea, an edge creeping back into his voice. “You want your friend to take the Crosser’s Maze, so that it might ease my suffering?”
“I won’t lie and say we wouldn’t like you to give it to us,” Kibi said. “But truth is, if there was some other way to get you put right, I’d be all for it. What you’re sufferin’ is impossible for me to understand, but even I can tell you don’t deserve it.”
Solomea’s eyes searched Kibi’s face. “So much happens that we don’t deserve,” he said softly. “If there’s one thing my explorations in the maze have shown me, it’s that the universe has no notion of justice. Justice is strictly a construct of intelligent beings, and every race, every civilization, every kingdom and town and individual builds it differently. Humans do no worse than most and better than many on the whole, but when you’re removed from your fellow man, you’re just as cleanly removed from a just existence.”
Kibi looked behind him; the others hadn’t yet caught up.
“Let me tell you something,” said Solomea. “There may come a time when you will be lost, stranded, with no way to return home. Your grandfather will help you. The stones will guide you to him.”
“My grandfather? My mother’s father? You know ’im?”
“His name is Caranch.”
“Caranch! You mean the archmage? The one that was keepin’ Naradawk out while the rest was tellin’ us ’bout the Crosser’s Maze?”
“All the stones know your name,” Solomea intoned. “And they know because Caranch taught it to them.”
Before Kibi could respond, Solomea raised his eyebrows and pointed over Kibi’s shoulder. “Your friends approach, Kibilhathur. You understand me well, and I appreciate your desire to help me. Yes, I am broken into fragments, and one of those guards the Crosser’s Maze jealously, while another yearns to be free of it. I think myself the true Solomea Pirenne, caught in the middle, but I cannot be sure anymore of who I truly am. Lapis makes persuasive arguments, and the Black Circle is a potent force even here in the maze, in my mind. I would prefer that it come to you, but I do not know which aspect of myself will make that decision. In the meantime, I will repay your kindness and sympathy with a gift.”
He motioned into the darkness, and a large gray shimmer coalesced out of nothing. It resolved quickly into a house. The Greenhouse!
“Someone inside is waiting for you,” said Solomea. He winked and was gone. The rest of Horn’s Company emerged from the darkness.
“There you are!” said Ivellios. “Are you all right?”
“I reckon so,” he answered. “I’ve been chattin’ with Solomea, the poor fellah.” He pointed to the Greenhouse. “Looks like he gave us a familiar spot to take a rest. Said there was a person waitin’ inside.”
“Who?” asked Ernie.
“He didn’t say.”
“It’s probably him,” said Dranko. “He’s playing games with us. We’ll get inside, and he’ll find some way to mock us.”
“I don’t think so,” said Kibi. “I sort a’ got through to ’im just now. Found out why he keeps his right hand hidden away. He got bit by a spider as a baby, and his whole arm’s shriveled down to nothin’. Colored his view a’ things, that’s for sure.”
“Maybe it’s Eddings,” said Tor. “It’s hard to envision the Greenhouse without him being inside of it.”
“That’s more likely,” said Kibi. “Or Abernathy. We should go in and find out.”
Kibi found his Greenhouse key in his pocket. The others let him go first; he turned the key in the lock and opened the door.
As promised, a guest waited for them, sitting in the living room in the largest padded chair, feet up on an ottoman.
It was Ysabel Horn.
Kibi felt a lump in his throat, felt his heart speed up. They had only just watched her die, and now here she was, sitting in a chair, watching them. But was this truly her? It couldn’t be. Mrs. Horn was dead, and none of them was really here, in the sense of being in a true, solid place. Solomea must have constructed her out of memories, their memories, realizing how much they all still missed her.
“Mrs. Horn!” Ernie rushed through the foyer and leaned down to hug the old woman. “Is it really you?”
Tor was on his heels; the others approached more slowly, perhaps still anticipating some cruel prank from Solomea.
Mrs. Horn looked baffled but pleased. She stood and embraced Tor, then stepped back to look them all over. “I don’t know. I think so, but it’s difficult to be sure.”
“Given that none of us are actually here,” said Dranko, “that’s a pretty good answer.”
Mrs. Horn gave a little laugh. “I’m dead, you know. Still dead. That kind gentleman, Solomea Pirenne, he offered me a chance to see you again, and of course I said yes. I thought it might be nice to see how you were getting along. I asked William if he wanted to meet you, but he was enjoying himself too much to leave on account of some people he never met.”
“Your husband William?” asked Ivellios.
“No, my greengrocer William,” said Mrs. Horn seriously. Then she slapped Ivellios in the chest. “Of course my husband, silly man. He’d been waiting on the Endless Shore for years. It’s the best part of being dead, being reunited with loved ones. That, and a lack of deadly flying rodents.”
“I’m sorry!” Ernie blurted. “We should have looked out for you. Solomea showed us—”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” said Mrs. Horn. “You should be proud of yourselves. Those monsters killed a room full of people, and you dispatched them with only a single casualty. I was a grown woman. I took pride in my self-sufficiency, and you saw how I comported myself. Dropped behind a chair and squeaked like a mouse, I did! Goodness, but I hope you haven’t been kicking yourselves over my death all this time.”
Dranko grinned.
“Grey Wolf may have kicked me over it, but eventually we all reached a peace.”
“Ivellios. Call me Ivellios. Please.”
“Right,” said Dranko, growing serious. “I’m sorry. Ivellios.”
“And now you’re in Brechen’s afterlife,” said Morningstar. “Can you tell us what it’s like?”
Mrs. Horn became silent. If she was just a figment of their collective imagination, she wouldn’t be able to answer. But after a moment, she smiled.
“Peaceful, but that word doesn’t really begin to describe it. Imagine you had nothing to do but revel in the happy company of friends and loved ones, to relax and to know that nothing would ever trouble you again. It’s all of that, without even the tiniest hint of boredom. Every day feels new, and the idea of a blissful eternity unrolling ahead of you is enough to knock you down with joy.” She grinned that lovely wrinkled grin. “And if you fall down, there’s nothing but the most perfect white sand you’ve ever seen, soaking up water from a sea so blue you’d swear it was the sky if it weren’t for the waves.”
She trailed off, her eyes somewhere far away.
“That sounds lovely,” said Morningstar.
“But enough about me,” said Mrs. Horn, snapping back to the present. “I imagine you’ve had the most fantastic adventures since we parted company. Tell me everything!”
And so they did. Tor and Ernie did most of the talking, sprinkled with witticisms from Dranko. Kibi was more than happy to let the others tell the tale while he simply sat and stared at Mrs. Horn. It was impossible not to be pleased, and yet… People didn’t come back from the dead. That wasn’t how it worked. But maybe, since she was still dead and only on loan from the Endless Shore, it didn’t count as violating the decrees of the gods. Or, maybe, the Crosser’s Maze was powerful enough that Solomea could bend the gods’ rules. It would have to be, if he had been able to visit the heavens while still alive. Everyone knew that was a thing that absolutely could not happen.
Everything was so upside-down, nothing would surprise him anymore.
Mrs. Horn listened attentively. She gasped at Ernie’s description of the Ventifact Colossus and gripped the arms of her chair as he told of their close call at the Kivian Arch. When Tor gave a blow-by-blow description of Kibi’s arena battle against the goblin champion, Vawlk, she cheered and gave Kibi a huge grin. (Kibi didn’t blush often, but this was one of those times.) She insisted on hearing every detail of their quest, and the telling of it seemed to take hours, though who could tell how much time was passing, or if it was passing at all.
When they caught up to the present, and Ivellios recounted what Solomea had shown him of his parents’ deaths, Mrs. Horn stood up from her chair and enveloped the man in a fierce hug.
“Oh, Ivellios,” she said quietly. “I’m so very sorry. I wish there was something I could do. I could tell you that at least you know the truth, but that’s a cold comfort.”
Ivellios nodded wordlessly.
“Well.” Mrs. Horn took a deep breath. “Having heard all of that, I’d say it’s a blessing I died when I did, when nothing vital was at stake. From the descriptions of your battles and escapes, I think I’d have died a dozen times over had I survived Verdshane, though I’ll bet I could have taught that Vawlk a thing or two about wrestling!”
They all laughed. How could they not? Ysabel Horn was with them, the one they had all liked from the start, the one they had failed to save. Death had not robbed her of her humor and warmth.
Tor yawned hugely. “I’m tired.”
“It’s been a long day,” said Dranko.
“Has it?” asked Kibi. “I feel like we might a’ been here a week already, but I ain’t been tired or hungry since we last saw Mazzery.”
“Good thing you’re in the Greenhouse, then,” said Mrs. Horn. “Solomea’s giving you a chance to rest, to prepare yourself for what tomorrow will bring.” She winked. “Or what Solomea makes you think is tomorrow.”
One by one, the others drifted upstairs to their rooms, all of them claiming to be tired and not seeming to think it odd. When only Kibi remained, Mrs. Horn leaned forward.
“Do you remember,” she said, “on our walk to Verdshane, when I asked you why it was that Abernathy had picked the two of us? Everyone else seemed to have their purpose.”
“I do,” said Kibi. “I got it figured out fairly well by now, though. Not that I’m as important as the others, but I’ve found ways a’ makin’ myself useful.”
A tiny smile curved the edges of her mouth and brought little crinkles to the corners of her eyes. “You don’t see it yet. This is a grand tale you’re in, and you, Kibilhathur, are its hero.”
Kibi had to laugh at that. “It was just luck there with Vawlk.”
“Young man, you know that’s not what I mean. Think about the whole story, Kibilhathur. We both just heard the entire thing from your own mouths. Follow all of its threads, and there you are, where they are interlaced, like the shuttle of a loom. Or maybe it would be more fitting to say you are the keystone of the arch.”
That sounded a bit overwrought, but it would be unkind to object to such a flattering sentiment.
“Could be,” he said. “Seems to me we’re all kind a’ tied up together in a big tangle, and each of us is a hero when we need to be.”
“I suppose that’s a fair way of looking at it.” Mrs. Horn looked out the window of the Greenhouse living room, as though there were something she could see in Solomea’s sea of nothingness. “Good night, Kibilhathur. It was good to see you again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Boss, wake up!
Aravia opened her eyes. The ceiling of her bedroom was a brown lime-plaster, veined with little cracks. She had long since memorized their patterns, and Solomea’s recreation was accurate down to the tiniest scuff. She came to wakefulness quickly and sat upright in bed; Pewter would not have woken her so urgently without a reason. Last time, there had been a horde of rats on their way to eat her.
I don’t know how long she’s been sitting there, said Pewter.
Lapis sat in Aravia’s desk chair, watching her. Her skin was dark blue, nearly purple, and a little diamond stud twinkled at the left side of her nose. One of Abernathy’s thinner spellbooks sat on her lap. “Have you deciphered this gibberish?” she asked, holding up the book. It was On Locks, the book Aravia had used to start figuring out Abernathy’s odd manner of spell notation.
“Yes, I have.”
Stay calm, Pewter. We don’t know if that’s truly her.
Lapis flipped the book open and looked down at it. “Solomea’s recreation of your Greenhouse is impressive, but he neglected to simulate the safeguards that keep people out. I wondered if you had a moment to talk.”
“Of course.” Aravia’s mind worked furiously. This could be Solomea himself, testing her. Or it could actually be Lapis, brought here by Solomea so that he could watch them interact. Or Lapis had found them on her own and had some scheme in progress.
A sobering thought: Lapis might have done anything while they slept. Could people die inside the Crosser’s Maze? Their bodies might be safe in Calabash, but she imagined that if one were killed here, in a mental construct like the maze, the mind would truly perish, leaving the body in a permanent catatonia.
Pewter, make sure that Lapis hasn’t harmed the others.
Her cat whisked out her bedroom door, which Lapis had left slightly ajar.
“Don’t worry yourself,” said Lapis, chuckling. “Your friends are fine. It’s you I wanted to speak with.”
“On what topic?”
“The Crosser’s Maze, of course.”
Aravia sat up straighter in bed, propping her back against the wall behind the mattress. “What is there to discuss? We both want it, but I’m sure it’s not the kind of thing that can be broken up and shared out equally. One of us is going to end up disappointed.”
“Yes,” Lapis said. “You are.”
Pewter?
They’re all asleep and
breathing. Looks like Lapis didn’t get up to any mischief.
Can you check the rest of the house?
On it, Boss.
“I have a question for you,” said Aravia. “Shreen the Fair was certain that book you stole had nothing in it of value. How did you manage to find Calabash?”
“I didn’t steal Labyrinthine,” answered Lapis. “I persuaded Shreen to give it to me. And the book had no value to Shreen and his predecessors because they lacked the wit to decipher its mysteries. But knowledge does not stay hidden from the Black Circle. Labyrinthine told me that the maze was in the jungle, and Certain Step told me the rest.”
“Where is Certain Step now?”
“Safe.” Lapis flipped over On Locks, as if hoping to find something interesting on the back cover. “I have a feeling he’ll still be of use to me.”
Aravia’s back pressed against the wall of her room. The steady, ever-present breathing reverberated through it, a tiny tremble in the wood. Solomea had created this place, this simulacrum of the Greenhouse, but how? Could he see into the real world and recreate anything that he saw? Or was this place formed entirely out of their collective memories? The true nature of the Crosser’s Maze was a tantalizing secret, one that she ought to know. Everything about it felt familiar, as though she walked through a house that she had lived in once as a child, but which she had abandoned so young that she retained no clear memories of it. Thinking of Morningstar’s descriptions of her Tapestry, Aravia had tried to change the maze from time to time, to wrest its physical nature away from Solomea. But she lacked the knowledge, the experience, the raw power necessary. It was like trying to turn a door handle made of water; she didn’t know where to begin.
“I’m waiting,” she said to Lapis. “As you came here to talk, why don’t you start talking?”
“Fine. I want to talk about how we each intend to use the Crosser’s Maze, should we acquire it.”
“Solomea told Grey Wolf something quite interesting about that,” said Aravia. “He said that you want the maze so that you can stop Naradawk Skewn. Is that true?”