Obviously, his resentment for the “First Wizard of the Civilized Kingdoms” had grown stronger than he’d realized. He should be relieved. Regardless of the way he’d been told, if his days of digging like some pathetic mole were truly at an end, he should be ecstatic, singing Ashel’s praises from every rooftop. And yet here he stood, scarcely able to keep from crumpling the page into a ball and stuffing it down Ashel’s throat. The thought brought a tremulous smile to his lips.
Now that would be satisfying. Right up until he blasted me to Kadra, that is.
Andaris read the message over again, this time feeling more disquieted than angry. He knew he shouldn’t let the man get to him. After all, if one chooses to befriend a rattlesnake, one must develop an immunity to its venom.
No, rattlesnake isn’t quite right. More like weasel or…rat. Ok, so if one chooses to befriend a rat, one must develop an immunity to its incessant scurrying, scratching, and squeaking. He pictured Ashel with whiskers and a twitching nose. Very fitting, he decided.
Of course, rattlesnakes and rats were utterly beside the point. Little more than mental fodder to distract his beleaguered mind from what it did not want to see. Regardless of what sort of creature Ashel did or did not remind him of, the thing that had him so disquieted was not the message itself, but what lay behind the message. Indeed, it was almost as though his subconscious had read something he had not.
What are you up to this time? Andaris wondered.
He felt like an insect being drawn into a web of horribly capricious design. Or worse, a pawn on a chessboard awaiting the next move, enduring the scrutiny of opponents possessed of frightful, earth-rending intelligence.
Just my imagination, he told himself. Getting me into trouble again.
Two hours later, after much procrastination, Andaris stood tentatively before the wizard’s door. One of the first things Ashel had done upon taking office was to replace the ordinary planked door with one more befitting his station, a lancet style arch fashioned from a solid piece of ash the color and texture of bone, hewn from the very heart of the mightiest tree in Ardenvale Forest.
Its beauty was undeniable, a masterpiece of form and function, a triumph of architecture and art. Adorned with exquisite carvings of woodland scenes, it seemed the very embodiment of purity, a thing to gaze upon but not to touch, more at home in one of Sokerra’s many museums than in a mere castle hall.
Andaris raised his hand to knock, sure that he’d mar its perfection with his all too ordinary knuckles. Before his fist made contact, however, the glowing sigil in the center of the door changed from red to blue. There was the sound of ocean surf accompanied by the high, melodic ringing of wind chimes. A gentle breeze caressed his skin, carrying with it the succulent aroma of braised pheasant in mushroom gravy—his favorite.
Oh, come on, he thought, stoically refusing to relax. This is ridiculous. Even for you, Ashel.
As the door swung wide, the chimes ceased their infernal ringing, the surf ceased its infernal crashing, and the aroma of braised pheasant was replaced by the more “study appropriate” combination of old leather and wood polish. Lingering just beneath the surface of this masculine bouquet was the stale vestiges of pipe smoke, a remnant from the good old days, from back when Elkar had been high wizard.
Andaris smiled. Now this was how a study was supposed to smell.
But pretty much everything else about the place had changed, and not for the better. In fastidious contrast to how Elkar had kept things, the interior was neat and clean, meticulously organized—obsessively, compulsively organized, a place for everything and everything in its place.
Standing in the center of the room, surly and bowlegged, was possibly the most disagreeable creature Andaris had ever seen. Which, at this point, was saying a lot. From the bottom of its webbed feet to the top of its spiky head, it was no more than three feet tall.
The thing bowed to him, spittle spooling from the corner of its mouth to the floor. When it straightened, it graced him with a hideous grin full of jagged green teeth and with a sharp hiss said, “Me Abolecious. Master say wait for you, so I wait. Always loyal is Abolecious. Always ready to serve.”
At this, the thing’s slitted eyes flashed, becoming large and round, midnight pools that one must not wade in for too long, lest one be drawn beneath to the murky depths, to a place where dark things slither and swim.
Feeling disoriented, Andaris broke eye contact, a feat which proved surprisingly difficult. Harmless indeed, he thought.
Looking mildly disappointed, Abolecious said, “You come with me. I take you to Master. He wait in tower. Tower Abolecious home. You come to home.”
Andaris just stood there, all but gaping, not sure what he would do until he opened his mouth and with a cringe replied, “Okay, take me to your…Master—the ridiculously pompous peacock that he has become. But I’m warning you, if I hear wind chimes or catch even the slightest whiff of pheasant, I’m out of here.”
Abolecious bowed to him again, not seeming to understand anything beyond his acquiescence, turned, and began walking toward the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, leaving a trail of slime on the flagstones as he went.
Andaris took a deep breath, wishing even more fervently than usual that Gaven were here, making one of those snide comments he was so good at: “Why, any slimier and this fella would be on a plate next to a side of rice!”
Without looking back, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Abolecious walked into the mirror, through the mirror, the unrippled surface of which did not reflect him or the room, but rather showed another place, a place as grand as Ashel’s study was modest, a circular room lined from top to bottom with books—leather-bound tomes with gilded pages and cryptic symbols on their spines.
A cathedral ceiling supported by massive wooden rafters added to the general sense of grandiosity. Scores of bats hung from these rafters in winged cocoons, and yet the floor remained curiously guano free. In the exact center of the room, situated between the gaping maws of twin hearths, stood a walnut desk with enough surface area on which to tap dance, the toes of its clawed feet splayed wide.
All but swallowed by a wing-backed chair, looking for all the world like a petulant child, sat Ashel Tevellin. He beckoned for Andaris to step through, gesturing with the first two fingers of his right hand, a smug expression on his narrow face.
Fingers made for the piano, Andaris thought.
A moment later, trying to ignore the discordant dervish playing up and down his spine, he managed to do the wizard’s bidding. It was like stepping into a cold pool of water, only it was more gelatinous and seemed to be aware of him somehow. Cool, gelatinous, and sentient. It felt like hundreds of fingers coursing up, down, and all around his body, probing, searching, questioning. The space between the study and this other place began to stretch. Andaris had the sense that he was stretching too, becoming thin as taffy, winding around and around himself.
Just when he thought sure he would snap, he fattened back out and stepped into what he would one day refer to as “The Church of Ashel,” a sanctuary for those terminally afflicted by delusions of grandeur and self-worship. The temperature and lighting seemed specifically designed to create a warm and welcoming atmosphere, perfect for putting naive visitors at their ease. Andaris felt a headache coming on. And, of course, he heard not only wind chimes, but also ocean surf. And smelled not only braised pheasant, but also custard tarts.
Andaris’ mouth watered involuntarily. “So…why all the theatrics, Ashel? I mean, who are you trying to impress? Abolecious?”
Following a calculated delay, one made more aggravating by the soothing strains of harpsichord music, Ashel answered, his disembodied voice surrounding Andaris, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. “I do not feel the need to explain myself to the likes of you. I doubt your pedantic mind could even begin to grasp the answer, so what’s the point?”
“See, that’s exactly the sort of thing I’m talking about. Why, when you’re sitti
ng no more than five feet from me, do you feel the need to magnify your voice? You could move your lips, at least. I mean, it’s just me and…I’m right here. What ’d ya expect me to do? Say oooh, ahhhh, look everyone—oh I mean just Abolecious—it’s the great and powerful Ashel, the mightiest ventriloquist the world has ever known?”
“You’ve been Gaven’s protégé too long, Andaris. It’s clearly beginning to rot your mind, what little you had, that is, filling the subsequent void with irreverence. Ever the last refuge of the idiot.”
Andaris stepped to the edge of the desk, hands and teeth clenched, anger making him reckless. “You’re worse than before!” he shouted. “And even then you were insufferably arrogant at times. I thought you had gained some wisdom after your death, but I guess you were just temporarily humbled. And now that you have all this power and influence, you’re turning into a monster!”
Andaris knew that Ashel could crush him with a thought, but also knew that this had to be said. And if those closest to him wouldn’t do it, “closest” being a relative term, then who would? His heart hammered against his ribs as he awaited a response, a staccato beat that suggested it might leap from his chest at any moment in search of more hospitable environs.
Once again the wizard was silent, unmoving, sitting there as if in idle contemplation, expression infuriatingly unruffled by his friend’s tirade—a mannequin with bulging white eyes and flowing black robes.
Seething with something akin to righteous indignation, Andaris reached out and grabbed Ashel’s right arm. Instead of flesh and bone, however, his hand made contact with…nothing. In fact, it passed straight through. There was a shimmer, and then the image appeared solid again, its look of idle contemplation unchanged. Andaris recoiled, and from all around heard low, satisfied laughter, low and bordering on sinister.
“In case you haven’t pieced it together, my brash young friend, I am not here. What you see before you is merely a cleverly devised representation. In actuality, I am in a place that I doubt you could even begin to fathom. Indeed, you’re not even where you think you are.”
Andaris certainly didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean, I’m not where I think I am?” he demanded.
“This tower is much more than your senses tell you. It has many levels, each housing wonders beyond your wildest imaginings. One day, perhaps one day soon, I’ll show you and Gaven around. No mere description, regardless how eloquent, can do it justice. Suffice it to say, it is far more than the sum of its parts.”
“And what exactly does that mean, Your Worship?”
“I forgive you your ignorance, for though you have eyes, you cannot see. In partial answer to your question, Andaris, this tower is the center link in a great, unbroken chain—a fulcrum in space-time. There are countless other links in this chain, countless other towers, reaching out before and behind, all the same, all different, each existing in a slightly to radically altered reality from our own, each a version of the same master reality.”
“So, you’re saying that—”
“Yes!” exclaimed Ashel. “Of course! I should think that would be obvious even to you. I can jump from tower to tower if and when I please, even skipping over certain links when the chain curves, when it slithers like a snake through tall grass—a kind of cosmic leapfrog if you will. That is how I found Abolecious. You would be surprised how close to our reality his world spins. There are others that are far stranger, home to creatures that make him seem altogether humdrum. In some of these realities, we are having the same, or at least very similar, conversation. Although in most you would not recognize yourself, nor want to.
Isn’t it wondrous, Andaris! It is a pity that you cannot experience it with me, without your mind coming unraveled, that is. For five seconds or so, roughly the span of time you would be able to hold onto your sense of self, you would be truly astounded. It’s almost worth the trade, don’t you think? For although you would surely die, in those five seconds, you would live more than most do in a lifetime.”
Fearing for his friend’s sanity even more than usual, Andaris chose his words carefully, sensing that something as benign as a misplaced syllable might be enough to tip the balance in the wrong direction. “The thing is, Ashel. And please try not to take offense. I’m speaking as a friend here. The thing is, this all seems a bit…over done. All smoke and mirrors, as Gaven might say. Like the orbs and the tree. I mean, does any part of you honestly believe what you’re saying?”
A full minute passed in absolute silence, the sort usually reserved for crypts and particularly pretentious libraries. Like this one, he thought.
Getting the distinct impression that he wasn’t going to get an answer, no matter how long he waited, Andaris sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, and said, “Okay, now let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re suggesting that this tower is linked to other towers by some kind of…space-time progression, all variations of the same thing, the same reality, like layers of the same onion, or mirrors bending into infinity? Is that pretty much the gist?”
“Very good, Andaris. I need to remember to start giving you more credit. You’re wrong, of course. But even so, that was quite imaginative and not too wide the mark. The truth is, this place can be whatever you want it to be.”
Andaris opened his mouth to respond to what he had expected Ashel to say, and then closed it again, fixing him with a blank stare instead.
“Don’t believe me? Well, I suppose I can’t blame you. If you need convincing, simply go to one of the windows, close your eyes, and think about what you want to see. When you open them, you will see it.”
“But what about the five-second thing?”
“Honestly Andaris, sometimes I wonder how you have enough brain power to even keep your autonomic functions operating. Obviously, what you glimpse through the window does not apply, or else I would not have suggested it.”
Andaris hesitated, attempting in vain to plumb the depths of this newfound darkness he sensed taking root in his friend. Was it real or imagined? When had he first felt it? He couldn’t recall. Certainly before the incident at Mandie’s bedside.
Rather than driving himself to distraction with such thoughts as he normally would, he cleared his mind and stepped boldly to one of the windows. It won’t work anyway, he told himself, trying to ignore the fact that he was trembling, trying to deny the fact that a sizeable part of him wanted it to work.
The windows were both deep-set and narrow, elegantly tapering from arched tops to the floor, edges exhibiting the sort of hazy precision that only magic can achieve. The one he stood before was seamless, smooth, and throbbing with energy, the surface of its opening flat and black, the enigmatic face of a calm sea before a storm.
As though hypnotized, Andaris closed his eyes and let his hands fall to his sides, imagining the rolling, forested hills of his father’s land. When he opened them, he did so with a gasp, taken aback by what he saw. For truly, what he had imagined now stretched before him, only with a thousand times more clarity and substance than memory alone could provide. It was almost too much to take in at once, so real that it hurt his mind, every detail standing out with such startling brilliance, bursting with color and vibrancy far beyond what he had been prepared to behold.
Cool blue sky shone above lush, densely forested hills. He could hear the cicadae buzzing in the distance, singing their endless summer song, their undulating rhythm not meant to be understood by the likes of him, or even Ashel.
“Especially not Ashel,” he whispered, his bewildered expression softening into a look of wonder, his mouth curving into a child’s smile. It seemed so tangible, more substantive than any mere illusion. He could even feel the mid-July heat on his skin, its fragrant breeze heavy with the sharply sweet scent of honeysuckle and wild onion.
Could it be? he wondered, heart fluttering in his chest. Could it actually be real?
“As real as anything else,” said Ashel, his condescending tone replaced by hushed reverence. “These
windows have the power to show different places and times. But remember, what you behold now is only a reflection of a reflection. You are no closer to your home than before.”
“Oh…. I see.”
Hearing the disappointment in Andaris’ voice, Ashel cleared his throat in the way people do before beginning an especially longwinded lecture and said, “This is not a bad thing, Andaris. Believe me, if you had seen what I have seen, you’d agree.”
“Such as?”
“Such as what occurred just last week as I was standing where you are now. You can be sure, I was given quite a start when I saw myself peering into the same window I was peering out of.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I locked eyes with my doppelganger, mouths agape in a caricature of bewilderment, too shocked to speak. Fortunately, before I could recover enough to ask or tell myself anything, the window went dark. I shudder to think what might have happened if one or both of us had been able to step through.”
“I guess I just assumed that’s how Abolecious got here.”
“An understandable assumption, given your complete ignorance on the matter. But a false one, nonetheless. Let’s just say, I brought him here by…other means. I did first see him through one of the windows. At least you got that part right. And he did ultimately step through. To actually bring him to me, however, I had to perform a series of complex calculations, most spawning from extremely multi-variable calculus, in which the variables each represent dimensions of either space or time. Determining the precise dimensional and sub-dimensional coordinates is a tricky business at best, Andaris. At that point, and only at that point, was I able to open a temporary gateway between our worlds and compel him to come through.”
“But if you—”
“The answer is no, Andaris! I cannot do the same for you in reverse. In fact, I’ve already tried. Every time I come close to finding your world, something interferes. Why and how, I do not know. All I can say is that I will not attempt it again. Last time, this something was aware of what I was trying to do and why I was trying to do it. I’m sure of it. I felt its gaze fall upon me like an immense weight. It was so forceful. It took all my will to break free. It was unlike anything I’ve encountered before—dark, ancient and twisted. I cannot chance another meeting. I will not.”
The Stair Of Time (Book 2) Page 3