by Joshua Cook
Silence was his initial answer. It was a silence that hung in the air and clashed with the room’s overall sense of purpose and faded power.
“Cendan,” Marcus said. “Do you know that being a Bridgefinder has been part of my family for over eight hundred years now? Multiple generations?”
“I watch this board, I see all those places for foci, and I see how much we’ve lost. One by one, over and over again. I wonder if at first they didn’t see it. A temporary setback, maybe, just a sad loss in a war that has gone on for generations. I wonder who was the first to realize we were losing this war. Every loss, every Bridgefinder that lost their powers to Grellnot. Everything gone.” Marcus shifted in his seat.
“And we come to the now. We find a new Bridgefinder, one more to pick up the fight with us. And he walks away. He refuses us. He sees the truth, knows the truth, and yet he walks away.” Marcus sighed. “Cendan, I failed. I failed you, I failed the Bridgefinders.”
Cendan had expected the storm—anger, bitterness, and even rage. But this, melancholy, this he hadn’t prepared himself for. “Marcus, you didn’t fail anyone, or at anything. You know what’s coming, day by day, and hour by hour.” Pausing, he took a breath. “You’re a good man and a good leader.” Cendan hoped this sounded sincere. He wasn’t sure he was getting it right. Apologies weren’t something he did often.
Marcus snorted. “A leader of a ragtag band, the faded glory of an ancient trust. Even if there were enough Finders to each have a focus, to fill this board… We don’t have enough foci. Sal found his, out of the slim remains. We have five, Cendan. Just five foci are left unclaimed. Grellnot wears over a hundred on his neck, and others have vanished in the years.”
“Your focus is special for just the very reason that we didn’t even know of its existence. We have no Makers to craft more. In a generation or two, the Bridgefinders will be no more.” Marcus lapsed again into silence, lost in the ghosts of the past and his own fading hope.
Cendan knew he was wrong. Still, he needed to feel this out on his own first. His already large hesitations with all this would just be compounded once they found out he was a Maker. Having a semi-mythological ability that they all seemed to revere would make it that much harder for him to get real facts, real information. Even more than before, he resolved to enter the Maker wing tonight. “I can only say I’m sorry, Marcus. I didn’t want to be part of this simply because it’s too foreign to my way of life, my way of being. You have to understand—logic, order, clarity, data, facts—those are the things my life revolved around. That was it. It was who I was. It’s all I wanted to be.”
Cendan sat in a chair, still facing the back of the one Marcus was in. “Then Grellnot came into the picture. These ‘abilities’ came to me then, my key had to be with me. I meet you all, I see the truth of the world, and frankly, it scared me. I wanted to go back to what I had before. I wanted calmness and order. This all… all of this Bridgefinder stuff… It was too much.”
“Then Grellnot attacked me on my way home. And I realized I was never going to be able return to that life. That Cendan Key is dead.” Cendan paused. “I won’t lie and say that I wish it was different. I’d give a whole hell of a lot to be back at my house, alone, watching a movie. Teamwork, all this weird Echo World stuff, this isn’t me.”
Shifting in his seat, he closed his eyes and continued. “As I said, that life, that me, is gone now. This is what I have to do now. Don’t take it personally. I’m sure Jasmine could tell you I just find people somewhat difficult.”
A long silence followed, but finally Marcus stood up. Turning towards Cendan, he nodded. “Well, I can’t very well turn you away after me bemoaning what we have become now, can I?” A thin, tight smile crossed his face. “I know I can come off like a hard ass, Cendan. I have to be. But, thanks. Thanks for coming back.”
Marcus left the room then and left Cendan with the sound of his steps down the hallway. Cendan sighed. Maybe he should have told Marcus now that he was a Maker, a Maker who didn’t know anything about being a Maker, with no clue as to what that really meant. The only person who might know was Oakheart, who if he dream was real, was now an actual oak tree under the control of the Slyph… which was in the Echo World.
In his mind’s eye, Cendan saw multiple branching paths on where to go from here. He was quite simply at a junction point. In his now past life as a Systems Analyst, he had always ordered patterns this way. Sometimes he came to a junction point, a place where multiple branches splintered off. Finding the best one for his preferred outcome was something he normally excelled at. But it was his own life now, not an assembly line, not a logistics plan.
Putting aside any desire to return to that past life, Cendan eliminated those branches from his mental image. Next, he put away any branches in which he was just a Bridgefinder and did not embrace the Maker label. All of those paths would eventually lead to the truth being known and hiding it would lead to strife and pain down the line. Now he was left with two main paths. One, going to the Maker wing, and unlocking its secrets. Time-consuming, but safer.
But there was another path. Normally, Bridgefinders couldn’t go to the Echo World. But Makers could. If he could get to the Echo World somehow, and either free or communicate the Maker now known as Oakheart, he would have access to a wealth of knowledge. That way was of course rife with danger and a great deal of question marks. How could he even get there, and once there, how was he supposed to find Oakheart? Assuming he did so, and he somehow managed to free him or at least talk to him, how would he get back to this world? There would be a great reward, but there were too many obstacles and question marks for him to even consider that path.
So the Maker wing was the best path, which meant after he got in, he was going to have to tell the others, “Hi, by the way, I’m one of those long-lost Makers, and I’m here to help you save the world.” He’d have to figure it out later.
The Garden. What did that mean? The map didn’t even give it a room, just the words, The Garden. Odd. It was near the Maker wing, and as heading that direction, he might as well see what is. Strange, though, that none of the others had mentioned a garden, not even in passing. Cendan looked forward to seeing it if only because a garden meant light and a somewhat more familiar environment. These never ending halls and doors got to him a bit, even though he’d never been claustrophobic. The feeling of being closed-in had a few times washed over him so far.
Hallways and doors passed as he walked, unlabeled and unremarkable for the most part, though as normal for this place, each one was different. Finally, he stood in front of the largest door he’d seen there. It was made of wood and green glass, shaped like a face. The face was bearded and kind, though it looked asleep, calm. Cendan’s breath caught. Was the face about to come to life and talk to him? As he waited, nothing happened. Cendan stowed the map away, rolling it into a tight tube. Holding his breath, he pushed the double doors open.
The first thing he noticed was the size of the place. He couldn’t see the far ends of the room. The garden was in a massive cavern, huge, and far-reaching. Fresh, clean air washed through his lungs as he exhaled and breathed deeply. Plants—green things and not-so-green things. His eyes beheld a riot of plant life, run wild and mostly out of whatever borders it once had. There were edible plants, things he recognized, mixed with trees, bushes, and shrubs that he had never seen. Stranger still, growing next to each other were things that didn’t even grow in the same environment. Artichokes grew next to the largest banana tree he’d ever personally seen. Apples grew mixed with what he thought was dragon fruit.
Stranger still were the plants that he couldn’t place at all. An orange and red bush with needle-like leaves grew from the branch of a tree covered with black moss, but didn’t appear any worse for the wear. Tables with trowels and shovels were in places as well, worn but serviceable. Light streamed down from far above him, bright and clean. Cendan’s heart swelled with contentment. This, he liked. He didn’t understand it, but he
liked it nonetheless.
“So, you’ve found the Garden?” Jasmine’s voice came from behind him. “I guess we didn’t mention it. We eat some of the food that grows here, but only some.”
“Why only some?” Cendan asked. “I would think that this place could provide enough food for years, or a lot more. Take it all in. The bounty is ridiculous, really.”
“Examine it closer. Some of it we know, but all those other plants, are totally unknown. That might be Echo World stuff. We don’t know how it all interacts with each other.” Jasmine walked over to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. “That being said, this is one hell of a good place to relax.”
Cendan heart tightened at the touch of her hand. “That begs the question—where does the food you all eat come from? Does it appear from somewhere? I understand how you and Marcus think about things like magic.”
Soft laughter was his first answer. “No, it’s called the grocery store. One of us goes on a run every month and stock up. Nothing magical about that.”
Cendan nodded in response, his head still baffled by his body’s reaction to her touch. “Yeah.” Cendan shifted left so Jasmine would move her hand. “So that’s not magic, but look at this place! You can’t say this isn’t magic. Even where the light is coming from—that’s not magic? The fact that the kitchen changes over time to suit the needs of the Bridgefinders that’s not magic?”
“Cendan, face me.” Jasmine said. As he did so, he noticed she had that look in her eye, the one that meant they were going to argue. “The building, the headquarters, may be magic. But all of this was built who knows how long ago by the Makers. Makers could do things the rest of the Bridgefinders could only dream of. We—meaning you, me, Marcus, and Sal—do not do magic.”
Cendan’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make sense. None of this place does. Simple logic says—”
“Don’t start with ‘simple logic,’” Jasmine interrupted. “This isn’t about logic.”
“Fine,” Cendan said. “The truth, then. The truth is that you’re doing magic but don’t want to admit it for reasons I damn well don’t understand.” His voice rose as his frustration with her and with the rest of the Bridgefinders grew. “Oh, I know, ‘don’t say that,’ etcetera. Can’t you all see that what you’re doing is utilizing magic?”
Jasmine locked eyes with him...”Still hard-headed as ever. Have to be right, can’t be wrong attitude, as usual. When are you finally going to admit that you can be wrong? You built your world for you to be perfect in, but outside of that life, you’re truly lost, aren’t you?”
Jasmine took Cendan by both shoulders. “Listen to me, Cendan. You’re not that person now. You know it. Stop trying to go back to being that version of Cendan Key. You’re a Bridgefinder now. Stop finding ways to push us away.” Her hands gave him a soft squeeze, and she walked out of the garden, not saying another word.
Cendan’s face was hot. He’d let his emotions get the better of him again. Jasmine’s closeness, the feel of her hand, it had unnerved him, maybe. Truth was, he didn’t understand them, none of them. Or this place. What the hell was he really doing here?
The time for second-guessing was over. Jasmine was right—as strange as he found it, circumstances had pushed him far away from his old life. Here he was finally part of something, not shut off, not alone. And yet, all he seemed to want to do was run away from it.
He had some exploring to do still.
With a deep breath, Cendan reluctantly left the garden. He needed to find the way into the Maker wing.
The rest of the day and evening passed quietly. Cendan spent a good hour or two roaming the lair with the map, making his own notes about what was in the various storerooms. He even found the door that had been bent and hammered at from the inside though he hadn’t gotten close to it. About four feet from the door, he had been gripped by a feeling of intense cold and emptiness. The map noted this area as “Examination Labs,” and in fact, several of the rooms nearby had long disused equipment for studying animals, outdated by nearly three hundred years or so. There were no modern labs in this place.
He’d also found the best route to the Maker wing from his room. It was a bit longer than the more direct route, but it avoided any of the areas he expected the others to be. It did pass right by the barrier room, but according to the map, there was no way to avoid that. Finally, he put the map away in his room and went to find some food. All that walking had made him hungry.
Entering the kitchen, he found all three of his fellow Bridgefinders talking quietly and eating. Silence gripped the room once he entered, and it was clear they had been talking about him.
“What have you been up to?” Jasmine asked.
It was telling how quiet it had gotten the moment he walked in. They must have been somewhat suspicious of his run-in with Grellnot. The truth was, he didn’t blame them—he’d been leaving out a critical detail, but they would know the truth soon enough.
“Oh, exploring, honestly. I decided that if I was really going to stay here, I needed to know my way around, and find out what was where. This place is… interesting.” Cendan paused. “Some of the storerooms are packed, and others are nearly empty. Some have things I can’t even guess as to what purpose they serve, and others are full of perfectly ordinary things. There isn’t much of a plan as far as I can tell, and that is odd.”
“I know what you mean,” Sal said. “Did you find that room that has nothing but big bolts of fabric? Dusty, but still colorful fabric? No reason for why it’s there, but it’s there. I spent days once just checking to see if there was anything I missed on the map. Never found anything, at least in the places I could go.”
Cendan nodded. “I even found that room you talked about, the one with the blows from the inside. Didn’t get close though.” Marcus nodded in response, but said nothing in return. “But I’m hungry and figured I’d get something to eat before…” A thought occurred to him. “What do you all do during any downtime? You can’t just eat and sleep, I mean, for fun. Read? I don’t see any TVs or a computer in the place.”
“Modern technology doesn’t seem to work well here for the most part,” Marcus answered. “There are a few exceptions. This room, for example—modern appliances work fine here. Electricity works, and in fact, a laptop works here fine, though there’s no internet, and Wi-Fi doesn’t work. What’s even stranger is that the power plugs here, we don’t know where they go, or how they get power. No one installed them—they just appeared.”
“We assume that somehow a Maker or Makers created this place, which allows it to change and grow.” Marcus took a sip of his drink. “One more thing we don’t understand. A small one compared to the others, but still, its information lost to us.”
Cendan didn’t have a response to that and figured he’d let it go. He hoped that with some luck and information, he could turn around the more and more morose mood he was picking up from Marcus. Jasmine seemed more resigned than sad, and Sal was actually upbeat, though he acknowledged he wasn’t sure what there was to be upbeat about.
Cendan ate quietly as the others one by one said their goodnights and left the kitchen. Finally, Cendan was alone. Figuring he’d need to just stay up, Cendan made some strong coffee and went to his room to wait. Bored, he paced his room in an effort to work off some nervous energy. He wished he had gotten a book or something to pass the time. There were at least four libraries on the map, but he hadn’t checked them out yet. Of course, given the overall state of the place, he wasn’t sure how recent anything in those rooms would be.
Finally, his watch read 11:00 pm. Cendan put his nervousness out of his mind and concentrated on the job at hand. The walk was long, but empty halls made for fast travel, though they were somewhat on the sinister side. He noted that one out of every three light sources was lit now, so the already dark halls were dimmer still. “Great place for a haunted house,” Cendan muttered.
Wondering if ghosts were a creation of the Slyph, Cendan continued on his way. H
e passed the barrier room, but didn’t want to look in, in case Marcus was brooding again. The rest of the way was quick, but the air felt colder here, more stale. At last, he stood before the door that led to the Maker wing. No one had passed this door in fifteen hundred years. What would he find inside? How big was this Maker wing? The map just left that whole half blank, but that didn’t mean the wing took up that whole area.
Cendan steeled himself and reached for the door. The handle felt warm to his touch, the raised carving of a line of acorns somewhat sharp against his palm. But the door didn’t budge. He tried again, but once more, it didn’t budge. Cendan stepped back from the door, puzzled. Unless the Slyph and Grellnot were wrong, which wasn’t really logical, he was a Maker. So why wouldn’t the door open for him? It was in good shape, similar to most things in this place. It just hadn’t been used for a long time.
But the door had no give—it didn’t feel like a simple stuck hinge. It was locked, obviously. And a lock… needed a key. Of course. In his vision, the last Maker had had the same focus that he had. Cendan had been thinking of it only as a focus, but not as an actual key to unlock something.
The key was in the barrier room, in the board, doing its part to slow the erosion of the separation between the worlds. If he was going to do this, he needed to go get it.
Hoping that Marcus wasn’t there, Cendan retraced his steps back to his key. He paused at the door, noting that all the lights that were supposed to be lit were lit. That could be an issue.
Not that he expected anyone to come by at this time of night, but if they did, it would be obvious that his focus was missing from the pattern. Once they knew the truth, it would be fine, but for this first night, he was just going to have to roll the dice. He didn’t like random chance much, but he couldn’t see a way around it. He briefly considered seeing if he could find a spare focus of the few that remained and place in his key’s place, but that plan had several issues.
For one thing, he didn’t know where those extra foci were. They didn’t appear on the map, and it was going to be a strange question to ask as the new member. Second, he didn’t believe it would work. While he wasn’t clear on all the details, it seemed that the focus had to be aligned to the Bridgefinder. His key was aligned to him as the other foci were aligned to their users.