by Frank Tuttle
“And you believe this thing, this vortex, can defend us? How?”
“He doesn’t know,” said Amorp. “None of us do. Yes, old Otrinvion created it, and it’s a safe assumption it’s a weapon. But that’s all it is -- an assumption. Hmph.”
Tim the Horsehead shrugged. “True. Still, I can’t think of a better instance in which to have at one’s disposal a limitless volume of arcane energy. And none of us can think of a Mage better suited to wield it.”
Meralda blushed. “You overestimate my skills,” she said.
“We do not. But hear me, Mage Ovis. This could as easily be your doom as your potential salvation. We are but shades. Our view of the living world is blurred and dim at best. Whether you should take this up, or leave it be, that must be your decision.”
“Why have I never heard of this before?” asked Meralda.
“Because you aren’t dead,” replied Tim. “It was a state secret in Amorp’s time, and faded from the world of the living shortly after that. If you are prepared to try and take control of it here, in Shadow, you might retain control of it in the living world as well.”
“If you survive the attempt,” said Amorp. “I certainly didn’t.”
“If I do try to take hold of it,” Meralda said, “how would I carry it back to the world?”
“We’re not sure you can,” said Tim. “But I believe the mere act of absorbing it will suggest a means to retain it. You could perhaps return here, for instance, and wield it from here. Either in a dream-walk, or by the more direct means, although we hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Meralda hesitated.
“Objects have been materializing around me, through no effort on my part,” she said. “Do you know anything about that?”
Something like distant thunder rolled past, filling the empty black sky.
The gathered Mages exchanged worried glances. “Unmagic,” replied Tim. “The re-creation of reality. Unmagic, we believe, is at the heart of the black destroyer. But how have you come to be touched by it, Mage?”
“I don’t know,” replied Meralda.
Tim whinnied. “Do you know what triggered the last Big Bang, Mage Ovis?”
“You don’t know that,” said Amorp, shaking his finger. “That’s never been proven.”
The ground began to shake. Tower’s walls tilted and groaned.
“We are nearly out of time,” said Tim. “Choose, and choose now. We have told you all we can.”
“I don’t know what to do!” cried Meralda.
“Then guess and make the best of it,” shouted Tim, over the resurgent thunder. “But do it now!”
The spinning shadow hung before her, silent but moving, like the fabric of the night caught up in an infant whirlwind.
Meralda thought of the Intrepid, so far from home, so far from help. What if I conjure a lit oven, she thought, or a child’s toy firework?
And what if the shades are correct, and the world truly is about to face doom, and this could be my only means of preventing it?
Action or inaction, she thought. Take up the thing of shadows, or leave it be, and hope for the best?
“Choose!” said Tim, her form fading, becoming indistinct.
Without even realizing she’d made a decision, Meralda reached out with both hands and took the whirlwind in a sudden, fierce embrace. There was cold, biting cold, and it sank into her chest, chilling her to the bone.
“Shelf 119, Row 43, Crate 19,” cried a faint voice that Meralda barely recognized as that of Amorp. “Otrinvion wasn’t the only Mage to ever hide a wonder! Fare thee well!”
The shadows fell away, and Meralda sat upright in her bunk, her heart pounding, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“Mistress,” Mug said, stirring awake himself. “Are you all right? You’re pale as a ghost.”
Meralda uncrossed her arms. No vortex of shadows whirled at her chest, though she could still feel the chill of the thing next to her heart.
Cautiously, Meralda tried to find the vortex within her, but could feel nothing, detect no change. Marvelous, she thought. I either imagined the entire event, or the vortex only works in the realm of the dead.
“Mistress?” repeated Mug.
“I had a bad dream.” Her voice was hoarse and her throat was dry. “But it’s over now.”
“Good,” Mug said. “Because it’s nearly time for you and your boyfriend to scamper off and commit treason. You should probably comb your hair.”
Meralda rose. She spotted a dozen new items strewn about the floor, but none of them seemed dangerous, so she left them.
“I’ll be ready shortly,” she said, chilled to her marrow. “If Donchen arrives, tell him to come in.” She pulled her blanket off her berth and wrapped it tightly around her.
“As you wish, Your Fearsomeness,” Mug said with a grand sweep of his drooping leaves. He began tapping on Goboy’s Glass, urging Tower to respond.
Meralda hurried to her water closet and shut the door firmly behind her.
* * *
Donchen arrived, prompt as always, at the stroke of eleven. He and Meralda waited until half past, and then they took to the Intrepid’s deserted passageways, bound for the Vonat’s hidden cabin.
Small objects fell to the deck in Meralda’s wake, though none were loud enough to disturb the sleeping passengers.
Like thieves in the night, they made their way quickly to the rear of the airship’s main deck and clambered up the spiral stairs that overlooked the loading ramp.
At the top of the stairs, Donchen stopped, holding up a finger. A moment later the sound of footsteps and soft voices forced Donchen and Meralda to draw back into the shadows. A pair of guards on night watch ambled down the empty ramp.
Meralda held her breath, fearful a bag of marbles or the contents of someone’s silverware drawer would come clattering down at her feet. Donchen smiled and squeezed her hand until the guards left the ramp.
Behind Donchen’s head was a porthole. Clouds raced past, lit by a silvery half-moon.
“We should wait a moment to make sure they’re gone,” whispered Donchen. He grinned impishly, pulling Meralda close.
She slipped her arms around him, pretending the stress of dreams, chaotic magic and Vonats were a million miles away.
“Do you think Mug is watching with the Glass yet?” she asked.
“I am certain he is not,” said Donchen.
The kiss was long and warm.
“You should not have come on this journey,” Meralda said, after a time. “But I am so glad you did.”
“I could hardly resist a line cook’s wages,” Donchen teased.
“Kiss me again,” Meralda said.
“An excellent idea.”
Their kiss was interrupted by a sudden hail of billiard balls. Both Donchen and Meralda scrambled to keep the balls from rolling and crashing down every step of the spiral stairs. After catching the last of them they sat, waiting for the sounds of running feet or the sight of Guardsmen.
Neither arrived. Donchen hid the balls in a trash can, offered his arm to Meralda, and the pair continued toward the Vonat’s cabin.
* * *
They hid in a tiny tool closet while the guards, sure no one would see their secret charge at this late hour, led the Vonat to the ramp for his evening exercise.
The door to the corridor remained shut, so Meralda didn’t see the Vonat as he passed. She did hear snatches of a quiet conversation, though she couldn’t tell which speakers were guards and which was the Vonat.
Donchen kept his ear to the door for a moment, then opened it quietly and poked his head out for a look. “Let’s go,” he said, and Meralda hurried with him down a short corridor and to a door marked ‘PUMP CHASSIS #5.’
Donchen paused at the door. He twisted his ring, and became Line Cook Jeffrey Sink. “Ready?”
Meralda nodded.
Donchen spoke a word. The invisible ward spells gave no outward sign, but Donchen was able to simply open the door an
d step through.
Meralda followed, and Donchen closed the door.
Inside was a tiny cabin, the size of Meralda’s, only lacking portholes. There was a berth and a desk and a water closet door.
Unlike Meralda’s cabin though, every vertical surface was covered with drawings. Some were done in ink, some in pencil, some with charcoal.
Donchen moved to stand beside Meralda. “He’s quite good, isn’t he?”
Meralda simply nodded. The drawings were mesmerizing. She recognized places in Tirlin—the Palace, the Park, the Tower. All were drawn with a spare set of lines that somehow captured the feel of looking up at the Palace spires from a busy sidewalk, or seeing the Tower lit only by moonlight.
And the faces—there was sadness, joy, weariness, laughter. Each was depicted with such skill Meralda was nearly moved to laugh or cry with them.
“Our Vonat did all this?” she asked.
Donchen nodded. “He’ll ask to draw you too. I’m in here, somewhere.” He pointed to a stack of drawings on the desk. “We may as well sit. They won’t be back for half an hour.”
The berth was neatly made. Meralda joined Donchen upon it, blushing when he winked. “Mug, we have arrived,” she said, still mesmerized by the Vonat’s drawings.
Soon, footsteps approached outside the door, and then voices.
“It’s time.” Donchen took in a breath, took Meralda’s hand, and vanished.
Meralda felt nothing and could still plainly see herself.
The cabin door opened. A guardsman came inside, looked directly at Meralda, and then walked to the water closet and inspected it briefly before leaving.
“All clear,” he said, smiling and oblivious to Meralda’s presence. “Goodnight, sir. Sleep well.”
The Vonat walked in, and the door closed behind him.
Meralda’s first reaction to the man was pity. He was thin—not just thin, but gaunt. Gaunt, stooped, and pale. Even the few strands of long dark hair that were pasted to the sides of his pale head were limp, as though exhausted from the simple act of hanging on.
His light blue eyes remained focused on the floor, and he limped when he walked, dragging his right leg with obvious difficulty. He did not smile, did not frown. Meralda tried but failed to find any hint of emotion on the man’s clean-shaven face.
Donchen let out his breath and became visible as Jeffrey Sink once again. The Vonat nodded his head in greeting, and shuffled over to his only chair, which he turned to face Donchen.
“Good evening, Jeffrey,” said the Vonat in a whisper. His blank expression never changed. “I am glad you’ve come.”
Meralda felt nothing, but the Vonat’s wary eyes turned toward her.
The Vonat rose quickly, brought his heels together, and clasped his hands at his waist. “I am honored by your presence, Mage,” he said, again in a practiced whisper. His eyes never quite met Meralda’s. “Kurbus Yksinare, at your service. Please pardon the disarray of my humble abode.”
“We may speak freely,” Meralda said. “The guards cannot hear us. And there is no need for apology, sir. Your artwork is lovely.”
The Vonat bowed his head briefly at her compliment.
This could all be a trick, thought Meralda. But he seems so meek. And so old, though he cannot be more than thirteen years my senior, if Donchen’s story is correct.
“You are too kind, Mage Ovis,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You speak perfect Kingdom,” Meralda said, before the silence could grow awkward. “I can’t even detect an accent.”
“Your Secret Service worked with me for years to eradicate any trace of my accent,” he said. “Honestly, I can barely recall the sound of it now. Not that I try. I want to remember nothing of that place.”
“Which is why we appreciate you agreeing to speak with us,” said Donchen. “I know reliving your story is not pleasant for you.”
The man finally met Meralda’s eyes for a brief moment, before he looked away.
His blank expression didn’t change. But in that instant, Meralda saw a lifetime of hurt behind those pale, unassuming eyes.
“He has told you how I came to Tirlin, has he not?” asked the man. “The library, the work camp, the river?”
Meralda nodded. “I am sorry you suffered.”
“My suffering was neither unique nor particularly harsh compared to that of my fellows. In fact, I consider myself the most fortunate of men, because I alone escaped.” A shudder wracked the man’s thin, stooped frame.
“But that is the past,” he said. “We are here to discuss the present.”
“The present in which you are a prisoner,” Meralda said, anger rising inside her. “I swear to you, sir, I will have words with the King about that.”
The man issued a single dry laugh.
“You misunderstand, Mage Ovis,” he said. “The guards are not present to keep me from returning to Vonath. They are here to prevent my countrymen from murdering me, should they learn of my existence. I suppose they will, if we survive this flight.”
“You believe we are in danger,” Meralda said.
“Oh yes, quite,” replied Kurbus. A ghost of a smile crossed his long face, vanishing before it could take root. “Before I continue, might I ask a favor of you both?” He turned and rummaged on his desk before producing a large pad of thick tan art paper. “Drawing eases my nerves. Would you allow me to sketch you both, while we talk?” They both nodded.
“Thank you,” said the Vonat. He selected a pencil, propped the pad on the back of his chair, and began to frown and sketch.
“The danger,” said Donchen, gently. “You were saying?”
“Oh yes.” The thin man’s pencil made rapid scratching sounds as it flew across the pad. “My Vonat brethren have no intention of allowing this craft to complete its voyage, you know. Not while you are aboard, Mage. No intention at all.”
“Someone made several attempts on the Intrepid,” Meralda said. “None were successful. And we are quite a long way from the Realms now.”
The Vonat nodded, squinting intently at Meralda, his hand still for a moment before the pencil began scratching at the paper again.
“Setting the construction hangar on fire. Poisoning the provisions. Attacking us as we departed. Yes. But I tell you the worst is yet to come.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Yksinare, but how could Vonath possibly attack us now?” asked Meralda. “We haven’t followed our published course. Our own bridge crew couldn’t pinpoint our location with more than a hundred miles of accuracy, and no one aboard has any way of communicating with Vonath, even if they wished to.”
“That, Mage Ovis, is the only reason we are alive to have this lovely conversation,” replied Kurbus. “But I tell you, despite the obstacles you mentioned, they are coming.”
Meralda glanced at Donchen.
“I have come to love Tirlin,” the Vonat said. “Love its people. Love its shops and streets and newspapers. Newspapers, can you imagine it? People not only speaking freely, but writing things down, and stating their names?” He shook his head. “For so long after escaping Vona, I waited to be tortured. Savaged. Threatened with death, or worse. But the guards kept bringing me things. Shirts. Shoes. Cupcakes. I thought that a ruse too, until the day I was taken to your Palace and asked where I would like to dwell. Asked. In that moment, I knew I was safe, that all I had been told were lies, and that I would live.”
He paused, erased a line, scowled at the pad, and began to draw again. “I took the name Aaron Sanders,” he said. “I pretend to be the scandalous son of a wealthy Phendelit family, sent away to stay out of trouble for a while. I have friends. People greet me, say hello. Tirlin is my home, but I have kept a secret, and for that, I am ashamed.”
“You need not be,” said Donchen. “Perhaps by keeping your secret, you guarded us all.”
“No. Even if that is true, I acted out of fear. I am still perhaps a Vonat, in my heart,” he said. “Trust no one. We learn that very early. The only secret you can tru
st is the one you never speak.”
He took a deep breath. “But if I am to die, I will not die a coward,” he said. “I tell you now. You, Mage, because perhaps you will know what to do with it.”
“I’m listening,” Meralda said, as gently as she could.
“When the Great Library burns, we were told to run inside, save the books,” he said, as his voice began to waver. “All is smoke. Heat. Shouting and confusion. I ran, like all the rest, gathered what books I could carry, ran out. They met us with swords. We ran back in. All night, we ran, until most choke or burn.”
Meralda shuddered.
“Beams fall around me. The fire burned my scalp, melted my shirt to my chest. I was lost inside the Library, deep in the forbidden parts of it. I felt a draft, cool air! I stumbled toward it, and a burning man thrust a stack of books in my hands. Somehow, I escaped, blinded and burned, but alive. I left the books with the masters, and they struck me, and left me for dead.”
“What an awful story,” Meralda said.
“It is, how do you say, just another day in Vona,” said the man, with a small shrug. “I lived. When I woke, I discovered a small book beneath me. I had fallen upon it. I was alone, and though I still do not know why, I took this book and hid it in a crevice in my chamber. Over the days, I began to read it.”
He shook his head sadly. “Such foolishness. I have seen men hung for far smaller infractions. My terror grew as I read the text, because I realized it was not a mere volume of history or an obscure magical treatise. It was a minor book of prophecy, which made reference to the Book of Prophecy, which only the Lords are allowed to name.”
The Vonat’s moving pencil halted.
“I am a fool,” said Kurbus. “A fool, to still be ruled by irrational fear. I did not understand all of what I read,” he said. “But this much was clear. An enemy lurks, out there in the dark. It nearly devoured our people once before, and only a few escaped to these lands, to hide. The book spoke of the Unmaker, who will reveal our hiding place to the enemy through use of puckang vummi.” He hesitated, his pencil suddenly still, as he groped for words. “The power of unmaking? The not-magic? There is no precise equivalent in your tongue. Unmagic. Perhaps that shall suffice. Yes. The unmagic will summon the enemy. When the enemy returns, all of creation will be consumed. Consumed, in the span of a single day.”