by C. M. Carney
As he got close, he eased back. This time, when he landed he would land softly. He could not risk the painful entries he’d experienced the last two times.
He hit the surface of the seething black star and passed through with a snap. His mind receded from universal to local and once again he was in his own body. His landing wasn't pretty, but he stayed on his feet. The surrounding energies dissipated, and he looked about.
What he saw stunned him. His expectations had been that the mind verse would be some kind of hell realm, like the one through the portal Avernerius came from. But this place was not. This place was a wonder.
He was in a grassy clearing amidst a wondrous ancient forest that reminded him of the old woods of Europe. In the distance, snow capped peaks kissed the sky and mountain streams fed down into a thin alpine lake. A tower shot upwards from the far shore of the lake, piercing the morning like a beacon.
He got to his feet and pulled his new spear from his inventory. This place was just too normal, too nice. Why would the Barrow King’s mind create such a place?
Gryph did a slow circle, keeping his weapon ready. Everywhere he looked he saw more wondrous nature. Woodland animals hopped and grazed, birds chirped and brooks babbled.
He walked towards the tower in the distance. He wondered if this was what the Barrow had looked like all those millennia ago when it had existed on the surface, but doubts crept into his mind. This spire was tall and elegant, a natural extension of the surroundings, as if it had grown directly from the land. It sure did not feel like the hellhole he’d spent the last several days in.
He ran and sent Mana into his boots, doubling his speed. Normally he’d opt for Stealth, but he had no idea how much time Wick had left. He didn’t plan to waste anymore time.
The world zipped by and he refilled the power of his boots twice. After a time he came to the edge of the forest and the edge of the clearing that sprouted the tower. It was hundreds of feet tall and made of shining white stone. A circular wall surrounded it, creating a massive green courtyard. An open set of gates led into the courtyard.
Gryph dipped down into Stealth and made his way through the gates. He saw nothing and no one. Was this the right place? Had he chosen wrong when he was floating through the nebula? Had he sentenced Wick’s soul to permanent death with his error?
He refused to let himself wallow down that path. If he had chosen wrong, there was nothing to be done now. He had to move ahead with faith. Wick was here. He had to be.
Gryph ducked low and sprinted across the sward of green between the gate and the tower itself. If hidden snipers lurked, this would be their chance to strike. Gryph forced himself to focus and soon his breathing relaxed.
He came to the base of the tower and crouched at the left side of the heavy wooden doorway. A glance back and forth told Gryph he was still alone. Was it going to be this easy? Was the Barrow King so sure that this private realm, this pocket universe, was secure that he had no guards, no security?
Still in Stealth, Gryph reached his hand towards the large handle on the door. A moment before his fingers touched the metal ring, the door eased open on well oiled hinges. Gryph jumped back startled and held his spear in a fighting stance. Almost more unnerving than the door’s movement, was the complete lack of noise. How could such a massive door be so silent?
The door opened and Gryph saw a humanoid figure back lit by many torch bearing wall sconces. His hands gripped the shaft tighter, and he sent Mana into the tip.
“Oh,” you’re here,” said a high-pitched voice that cracked as if its owner were on the cusp of puberty. “I’ve been waiting so long.”
Of all the things Gryph had expected to emerge from the tower, a thirteen-year-old boy had not made the list. But, as the figure emerged into the light, that is exactly who greeted Gryph.
“My name is Simon,” said a sandy haired boy with the thin, gangly limbs that made the early teens a time of clumsy nervousness. “Would you like to come in?”
“Um." Gryph said, standing at his full height and clutching the spear tighter.
For the next several moments man and boy just stared at each other.
“Are you slow or something,” Simon said in the typical tone of the irritated adolescent. “Great, alone all these years and I get an idiot as my first friend.”
“Who are you?”
“Oh good you do talk. I’m Simon, but we already covered that, didn’t we?”
In an almost comical way, Gryph backed up, looked up and down the tower and turned around in a 360-degree circle. Something just wasn’t right. Simon stared at him in a way that was both curious and condescending. Finally the kid snapped, bringing Gryph’s attentions, and annoyance, back to him.
“Hello, Sir Knight, would you like to come in?”
Gryph gave the kid a look that suggested he shut up and Simon pouted. “You’re here to see Him.”
“Him?”
“His Majesty, the great and powerful Ouzeriuo.”
“I don’t know who that is. I’m here to find a friend. He was taken here against his will by an entity known as the Barrow King.”
“Yup, that’s him, but I always thought that name sounded stupid. I mean of all the names you could choose you go with you choose the Barrow King. Seriously?”
“Kid,” Gryph said, moving to grab the annoying adolescent by the arm. “Time to focus.”
Simon lurched away from Gryph’s grasp. It reminded Gryph of a childhood friend who never liked being touched. Years later Gryph had learned that his friend had suffered abuse.
“Sorry, I won’t touch you. I don't have a lot of time. Is he here?”
Simon harrumphed with such drama that Gryph was surprised the kid didn’t pull something, but eventually he tossed his head back in a ‘follow me’ gesture and walked into the tower.
“Okay,” Gryph muttered to himself and looked around one last time. He was almost certain he was being punked, but further surveillance proved fruitless.
Knowing that he would regret it, Gryph stepped over the threshold and into the tower. The inside looked exactly as one would expect. A large circular room with a ceiling that reached a hundred feet or more dominated the ground floor. A few doors led off the main chamber and two large staircases circled upwards.
Gryph felt as if he were in some ultra modern skyscraper. Something you’d see in Dubai or Singapore. Instead of technology, archaic magics adorned the place.
“So he is here, your master?”
“He’s not my master,” Simon spat. “But yeah his majesty is here. Just got back too, so your timing is impeccable. He has a guest and told me not to disturb him except to bring dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah, yah know the meal, lamb, potatoes and turnips and jellies.” Once again Simon eyeballed Gryph as if he were talking to a moron.
“Have you brought it yet?”
“What?”
“Dinner?” Gryph said, his voice raised in ire.
“No, I was just about to. Why you wanna help?”
“Yes. Yes, I very much do,” Gryph said.
“Okay,” Simon shrugged in a way that said he didn’t care either way. “Follow me.”
Simon led him into one of the side doors to a small room that was unadorned save for a circle of engraved metal in the floor. Simon stepped into the circle and waited for Gryph to do the same. With some apprehension Gryph put one foot then another over the circle. He could sense the power that lay in the ring.
“I’d stand still if I were you,” Simon said. Gryph became rigid, like a statue, but gripped his spear. A moment later the world folded and popped. His guts shuddered and nausea poured over him and then the world folded again and they were in a nearly identical room. Gryph’s ears popped, and he nearly toppled.
“What the?”
“Portal circle,” Simon said with a grin. “Guess I could have warned you.”
Simon didn't wait for Gryph to respond and exited the room. Gryph forced himself to
recover. As annoying as this kid was, he couldn't risk losing him. The kid was just entering another door when Gryph exited the portal circle chamber. He clutched his spear as he lost sight of the kid and stumbled down the hall.
The door led to a large kitchen. Inside was a wonderland of automation unmatched even on Earth. Food items prepared themselves. Moving about, in and out of ovens and pots, as if unseen hands were carrying them. The smell was fantastic and Gryph’s stomach grumbled. It was then that he realized that the last real meal he had eaten had been the food Doc had brought him the day before this entire nightmare had started.
Gryph resisted the urge to scarf some food. For all he knew this Simon was the Barrow King, and the food was all poisoned. That would be an ignominious way to die and lose his Godhead, poisoned by a bratty teenager because he was hungry.
Simon snapped and the food all drifted over to a silver-serving cart. A cover slipped over the food to keep it warm and a jug of wine slid over and landed next to the food.
“Ready?” Simon asked.
“Hold on just a second. You need to answer some questions.”
Simon crossed his arms in the condescending way that all teens had of showing displeasure. Some things did not change no matter what universe you were in. Simon stared at Gryph and the stare said ‘fine, lets get this over with.’
“Who are you?”
“I’m Si..”
Gryph cut him off with raised palms. “I know you’re Simon. But who are you and how did you get here?”
The look of irritation fell from Simon's face as he thought. “Um, sometimes I’m not sure anymore. It’s been so long. I’ve served Ouzeriuo for so long I can't remember.” The memory seemed to touch something painful inside Simon and his cocky demeanor returned. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because, there is something off about this place.”
“Yeah, it’s boring.”
“Yeah, it is,” Gryph thought as his mind worked. “You said your mast… Ouzeriuo, just got back?”
“Yup.”
“From where exactly?
Simon shrugged. “I don’t know. He goes away and comes back. He usually brings a friend. I bring meals for a few days. Then the friend goes away and for a while Ouzeriuo is happy. Then he isn’t, and he goes away again. He doesn’t bother telling me his schedule.”
Gryph was piecing together the odd logic of this realm, but he needed to ask more questions. Wick’s life, his soul, might rely on the answers this brat provided.
“How many meals have you served him this time?”
“This is the first.”
“Good. And how many do you normally serve before he goes away again.”
Simon shrugged. “It varies.”
“Well take a guess.”
“Sometimes one. Sometimes a few. I never know until I bring up dinner and he’s just gone.” Simon shuffled his feet in a way that told Gryph he was hurt by it, but didn’t want to admit it.
“Okay, that’s good. Now, why don’t you tell me about yourself.”
“Whatcha wanna know?” Simon said, excited for the interest, but also fearful that it was some kind of trick or joke.
“How did you come to be here?”
Simon screwed up his face as if the memory was painful and he didn’t want to remember. After a moment he shrugged. He stayed silent.
“Come on kid. You help me, maybe I can help you. Take you from this place.”
Simon’s eyes snapped up, an odd mix of fear and excitement in his gaze.
“I have to bring dinner,” Simon said, shunting the hope aside.
Gryph held back a sigh. This kid had some serious trust issues. He walked over to the car and pushed.
“Let me help you.”
Simon nodded, but said nothing as they exited the kitchen into a long hallway. After a dozen steps, Simon spoke up in a small voice.
“I don’t remember much. It was a long time ago.”
“It’s okay just tell me what you remember.”
“Morrigan brought me. I think I was his manservant. Not a bad gig all things considered.”
Gryph wasn’t sure why, but the name Morrigan made his skin crawl. Was it a name he’d heard Wick say, or maybe Ovyrm? He didn’t know. He knew he had to ask and hoped that the question didn’t set this sullen teen down the wrong path.
“Who is Morrigan?”
Simon’s gaze snapped up at Gryph, an incredulous look painted across his face. The boy stopped, and fidgeted back and forth as if wanting to run, but fearing the consequences.
“It's okay buddy. I’m kinda new to the Realms.”
Simon’s eyes went wide in excitement.
“You’re from the Outer Realms? Wow.”
“Something like that. Regardless, I’m not up on current events. I promise, someday I’ll tell you about my home.”
Okay,” Simon nodded in excitement. “Well, Morrigan is one of the gods. Soon he will be the High God. That’s why we came here. Ouzeriuo is a very powerful wizard. He knows secrets that nobody knows, not even Morrigan. Morrigan wanted to learn and for a while Ouzeriuo taught him. Then…” Simon stopped as if the next part was painful.
“Then?” Gryph prompted.
“Then they got in a big fight.” Simon held his head as if hit by a sudden migraine. “It’s hard to remember sometimes. “I think they fought. Then Morrigan went away and left me here with Ouzeriuo. I think that was a long time ago.” He stopped again, almost falling over in a feint.
“Woah, I got you,” Gryph said, lunging out to catch the kid. Simon jerked from his touch again and Gryph released him. After a moment Simon seemed to regain his composure and pushed the cart onwards.
“You know,” Simon said in an odd voice as if he had drifted light years away. “I’m not even sure my name is Simon.”
Gryph felt tension rise in him as they got closer to the doors at the end of the hallway. “Well, it's a good name.”
“Yeah? “ the kid said as he pulled the cart to a stop and moved to open the doors.
Gryph pulled mana into himself and clasped his spear. Whatever lay behind these doors, he would be ready.
49
T he doors were fifteen feet tall and made of pale amber wood. Simon pushed them open with practiced ease and returned to the cart. As his gaze passed over Gryph his eyes grew distant, almost glazed, as if he was no longer present, but just an automaton fulfilling a task.
He pushed the art into the room and Gryph followed.
“Ah, Simon,” said a voice that reminded Gryph of a kindly grandfather from a candy commercial he’d seen as a child. “I was wondering where you’d gotten yourself to lad. My guest is famished.”
Gryph eased around the cart, muscles tensed for action. What awaited him was both stunning and expected. A old, white-haired man sat at one end of a long dining table. You know those tables you see in movies that rich folks use. The kind that circumvents any chance at real conversation.
The elderly man, who Gryph guessed had to be Ouzeriuo, the Barrow King, looked at Gryph and a smile of both genuine and confusion crossed his face. He reminded Gryph of his own grandfather the last several years of his life. They were not the eyes of a soul consuming revenant.
“Why Simon, who is your friend?”
Simon said nothing as he pushed the cart forward. Gryph eyed Simon warily. Something wasn’t right here. He backed away, but kept pace with the thin boy. As they fully entered the room Gryph got his first look at the guest Ouzeriuo was entertaining.
Wick sat at the table's far end, as healthy as Gryph had ever seen him. The gnome's skin looked as if he’d spent the last few months in the sun and not the dour darkness of the Barrow. The blue shock of hair was lustrous and undamaged by acid. A jovial smile split his face. It was only when Gryph saw his friend’s eyes that he realized something was very, very wrong. They were the eyes of the dead, listless and lacking light.
Wick’s gaze fell on Gryph and the gnome said. “Hello.”
; Ice dug into Gryph’s veins. There was something going on here that he wasn’t seeing. On a whim he pulled Wick’s goggle up over his eyes and toggled the lenses to see magic. He almost jumped. The place was rife with tendrils of all colors, moving to and fro. His head began to pound just trying to differentiate between the strands.
He closed his eyes and forced his mind to focus and to calm. When he opened them again, he centered his gaze on Wick. Sure enough a silvery tendril of magic pulsed from Wick directly to the food Simon was serving Ouzeriuo.
The old man pulled a tender bit of lamb free with his fork and shoved it past trembling lips where he chewed. Each movement of his jaw brought a pulse of light into the strand leading from Wick to Ouzeriuo.
Gryph’s eyes widened. He was consuming Wick’s soul. Gryph spun his spear around and dipped the tip into the stream moving from the gnome to the old man. Maybe the spear’s ability to drain magic would interrupt the flow. The tip punctured the flow and energy shot up the spear and into Gryph’s body.
Pain exploded into every cell in Gryph’s body as he flew backwards, impacting the wall and knocking the wind from him. His health bar dropped by nearly a third.
He stood, wobbling back and forth on unsteady legs. The old man continued to chew and Simon continued to set more dishes in front of him.
“Simon, this is quite delicious,” Ouzeriuo said. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had the like. What is it?”
“It's called gnome sir,” Simon said.
“Gnome. Hmmmm, quite tasty. So tender and full of vitality.”
Gryph shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. He advanced on Simon and pushed the lad away from the serving cart. Then he tried to push the cart, get it as far away from this soul cannibal as possible. But his hands phased right through it. It was incorporeal.
“I don’t like to be touched,” Simon said as he stood, dusted himself off and returned to his duties.
Gryph panicked. Ouzeriuo was consuming more of Wick’s soul and it was taking a toll on his friend. His skin had turned sallow and strands of grey had wormed their way through his hair.