The Myth of the Maker

by Bruce R Cordell

  “I care,” Siraja told the hammer wielder, whose name I suddenly realized was Kadir. Siraja continued, “I told you, we can sell this meat at the Citadel of the Harrowing. So–”

  Kadir replied, “Dickspittle! You’re not the captain’s favorite any more, Siraja. I am. And I say we beat this sark-fondler into mash. He’s got nice shit. Dibs on his boots!”

  Before I could offer a reasonable objection, the brute charged me. Without thinking, I yelled, “Kadir, stop!”

  Kadir slowed, surprised that I knew him, too, but he didn’t come to a complete halt. On the other hand, instead of tenderizing my brains, his hammer missed. I took a few practice swings with the belaying pin. The rod whistled satisfyingly through the sweltering air.

  Kadir came at me again. But Siraja raised a curved blade and yelled, “Kadir, you pock-faced rat! It’s not your decision!” She hewed at him, not me.

  The hammer wielder whirled to deal with the unexpected threat on his flank, which made it easy for me to deflect his swinging hammer with a backhand swing of my rod. The impact jolted my wrist and stung my palm, but it felt good, too. Real.

  Kadir screamed to the others, “I told you! Didn’t I say she’d try something? Get her!”

  The tableau reset. Now Siraja stood at the center of a loose ring of her compatriots – the tiny fellow, the one wearing all red, and the woman with moving hair. Plus Kadir, a huge grin stretching his face.

  I glanced up at the ship, which had stopped moving. A weathered name was visible on the prow: Nightstar. Several more figures stood watching events, with wagers passing between them. None of them were looking at me, but rather at Siraja and her predicament. I wondered if it was time to leave them to it.

  “Mutiny!” growled Siraja, her ears and head glancing around to take in all those who menaced her.

  “Oh come on,” drawled the woman whose hair moved. Her name, I realized, was Mehvish the Strangler. Mehvish continued, “To be mutiny, you’d have to be part of the command structure. And you’re not. Not anymore.” The woman laughed.

  A cold voice yelled down from the ship, “Hold.” I glanced up. Another qephilim had spoken, a male wearing particularly fine clothing, and several gold rings piercing his tall ears. Captain Taimin – that was his name, I knew with easy certainty, despite having never seen him before. Apparently, knowing names was just something I could do here in Ardeyn. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  The pirates on the glass gave Captain Taimin their complete attention.

  Taimin folded thick arms across his chest, arms sporting grandiose metallic bracers. He said, “Settle this squabble. I don’t care how. Except for one thing: if Siraja comes back aboard the Nightstar, then Kadir may not. If Kadir returns instead, then Siraja must remain on the glass.”

  Taimin threw a two-finger salute, turned, and strode out of view.

  “Well, well, well,” said Kadir. The tiny fellow guffawed. The one wearing all red and Mehvish with the moving hair both grinned.

  Siraja said in a cold voice, “You firepeckers have always been against me.” Not even her captain had her back. She was alone. Which gave me an idea.

  “Hey, Siraja!” I said. “If I help you sort this out, do the same for me? Vouch for me with your, um, crew?”

  All the pirates looked at me. The one between me and Siraja – Mehvish – shifted her position somewhat so she was no longer bracketed between us.

  “What can you do?” Siraja asked.

  Declaring my ability to guess names sounded incredibly lame, even to me. So I hefted my heavy belying pin and adopted a martial position. “I can–”

  The little guy’s hands blurred, and a knife was suddenly protruding from my shoulder. The tiny fucker had thrown it. I screamed and dropped the rod. That was Siraja’s cue; she spun, her curved sword extended. The little guy’s head spun away from his body. His blood spattered on the glass, painting a zigzagging trail between his slumping form and the rolling lump of meat. My inner voice told me what his name had been, but I promptly forgot it, seeing as how it was no longer relevant.

  A flurry of swinging pirate blades, iron hooks, and hammers erupted around me. One hand on my shoulder where the knife still protruded, I scrambled backward.

  My ability to swing a heavy iron belaying pin meant squat in Ardeyn, where sorcerers and fantasy heroes walked. I was a fool to think otherwise. Running away seemed the only thing I could do, despite my offer to help Siraja.

  Except, hold on. I was part of this world, now. Hell, I’d made it, at least in a manner of speaking. Shouldn’t I be able to partake of the same abilities those heroes blithely employed? If my spotty memories and Bradley’s story was any indication, I’d done it once before, and become the Maker with a capital M. I should be able to do it again.

  Except I had no idea how. Yelling “Shazam” didn’t seem to work.

  Siraja bellowed, jerking my attention back to the fight. Only a few seconds had passed, but already she was bleeding from several cuts. The little knife thrower was down, but Kadir, Mehvish, and the guy in red still threatened. She saw my glance and yelled, “What are you waiting for? Help me!”

  Right. Maybe something like what I’d managed before, when I’d made Kadir hesitate. I focused my attention on him. Kadir was his common name, everyone knew it. But as I concentrated and pushed deeper, his “true” name popped into my brain. All his strengths, all his weaknesses, all that he’d ever been was in that hidden name. Indeed, he was hardly more than a shell, acting according to a limited nature; he didn’t have the spark of true consciousness. I don’t know if that made a difference or not, but maybe it’d make what I was about to try easier.

  I pronounced a portion of Kadir’s true name. To anyone who heard it other than him, it was a nonsense word. To Kadir, it was the voice of thundering, burning command. Seeing that I had his attention, I said, “Drop your hammer!”

  The hammer cratered onto the glass.

  The sound seemed to jolt him out of his daze. He blinked and shook his head, then pointed at me. “He’s a soul sorcerer. Forget Siraja, kill him!”

  Oops.

  Kadir grabbed for his hammer, but a residue of my command lingered, preventing him. Siraja engaged the fellow in red before he took more than a step toward me.

  I lost track of the qephilim when a braid of Mehvish’s hair lashed toward me, its tip uncannily cobra-like. I ducked, but a second braid grasped me around the ankle and yanked.

  I fell on my left side. The braid kept pulling, and I slid along the glass, unable to stop myself. Mehvish’s laughter scratched my ears. I tried to focus on her, searching for her true name as I had Kadir’s. I couldn’t get my breath, and the heat finally seemed to have soaked into my brain. Her true name eluded me. I needed help.

  The winding length of animate hair yanked me across the glass. A friction burn seared my ass through the cloth. Before I could more than gasp at that, Mehvish kicked me in the side with the strength of a mule, and I lost track of everything else. Pain blossomed and I folded sideways, gasping. She kicked me again.

  “Ever been strangled?” Mehvish asked. “How about drawn and quartered? What, won’t talk? Answer me!” I gasped, trying to suck air into my lungs, and shook my head.

  She drew her boot back and her hair rose about her like a storm cloud.

  “No, never,” I wheezed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I was going to die here. Unless I got my shit together immediately. Where’d I dropped the belaying pin? I wondered if the talking cannonball in my satchel could hear me…

  I gasped, “Jushur, kill this woman!”

  Mehvish glanced around for who I might be talking to. I didn’t wait to see if Jushur would actually help. The moment she was distracted, I renewed my concentration on her. She was different than Kadir. Far more complex. I riffled through bands of names and appellations that layered her like one of those Russian dolls. I realized she wasn’t human, and in fact was much older than she looked. Like, hundreds of years older. Which was why I was having s
uch a difficult time getting her number. She was too tangled to encapsulate, at least quickly.

  So I tried the next best thing. “Mehvish,” I said, and her eyes snapped back to me. “Stop, or I’ll reveal what you really are to your friends. I’ll tell your comrades and your captain. You’ll be without a home once more, and without friends.”

  I had no idea how she’d react, or even if I was on the right track. If she ignored me, and instead kicked me hard enough, quickly enough, I wouldn’t be able to scream out the truth about her. And why would a bunch of pirates believe some poor loser lost in the Glass Desert anyway?

  But my threat shocked Mehvish into a startled stare. She glanced sideways, then back at me. She whispered, “Do not.”

  “Then go help Siraja, now, or you’re done here.” To my own ears, I managed to speak with the dread authority of a storybook villain, with only a slight quaver.

  Mehvish actually growled at me before she turned away. As she did, her lashing hair spread out into four separate twining braids. The braids converged on the man in red – Luwren was his name – and easily wrapped him up by his wrists and ankles. The hair obviously had an impressive power all its own, because Mehvish actually grabbed Luwren up and held him in the air with her animate hair. His scream of surprise turned into one of horrified agony a second before she pulled off both his arms.

  All the conversation on the ship ceased, as did the jibes that Siraja and Kadir had been throwing back and forth at each other. Everyone was looking at Mehvish as she tossed Luwren’s spurting remains. Then she pointed at Kadir, and said simply, “Go. I’ve decided that, actually, Siraja is a better fit for this crew.”

  Kadir and Siraja both looked surprised. But Siraja adapted first, and grinned. “Goodbye, Kadir. You can’t beat me and Mehvish together.”

  “And me,” I said, then coughed. I’m not sure anyone actually heard me.

  Kadir said, “But you were demoted. I should be first mate!”

  “Captain Taimin made his decree. Only one of us is welcome back aboard,” said Siraja. “And that’s me. Get going. Before Mehvish adds to her arm collection.”

  Kadir scowled. Then his shoulders slumped. He understood that he’d lost. He finally managed to grab the hammer I’d commanded him to drop. He flipped off the assembled crew still watching from the deck of the Nightstar, then walked away under the merciless sun.

  I stood up.

  “Are you coming?” Siraja asked me, then pointed to the pirate ship.

  I nodded, though part of me wanted to follow Kadir and get away from these bloodthirsty thugs. Except I’d die from heat stroke if I didn’t get more water soon.

  So I said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

  18: Revelation

  Katherine Manners

  Two Months Later

  “Those dreams still bothering you?” said Raul.

  “Now isn’t the time,” said Kate. The last thing she wanted to think about were her nightmares. The unfamiliar voices, finding herself lost in bizarre locations… Nope. Not the time for it.

  So instead, she grabbed Raul’s name badge and gave it a final once-over as the elevator ascended. She had faked up reasonable facsimiles of computer contractor IDs from a company in Portland, Oregon she’d picked at random from an online registry. They wouldn’t stand up to detailed scrutiny if they were discovered in Garland Klein’s private office, but she was reassured that a casual glance, at least, wouldn’t blow their cover.

  “We don’t need to rush in,” insisted Raul as the floors flashed higher on the elevator display. “I’m worried about you. You look tired.”

  Kate sighed. “All right, yes. I still get those dreams.” More frequently than ever, she didn’t add. Last night she dreamed she fell through her bedroom floor and directly onto a desert made of glass. In the dream, she’d burned her feet. The ring Carter had left behind, which also featured in her dream, had spoken in her mind. The pain from her feet woke her before she was able to parse the ring’s message.

  Her soles still ached, but they hadn’t been physically scorched when she checked in the morning light. And the ring, which she kept in a tiny plastic case, remained speechless. It was just another dream. Wasn’t that what Dana Scully would say? She could imagine the hero of skeptics everywhere telling her exactly that. Kate sighed. Sometimes, though, she just wanted to believe. To be a hero, not someone who catches people cheating on their significant others.

  So why was she feeling so off-kilter? Everything that happened meant that her chance to be a hero, to believe in something amazing, was happening all around her. To her, even. Was the fear of being disappointed still holding her back, after everything?

  Raul broke her stream of consciousness with a cough. “We should talk about this. It could be related to your contact with Ardeyn, and the Strange–”

  The elevator door slid open.

  “Not now,” she said, setting off down the corridor. At two in the morning, the September Project office in Portland, Oregon was deserted. Except for a few lamps shining from adjoining offices, it was also dark. Dream analysis from a friend, especially a friend who seemed as if he was dealing with his own brain issues, was a distraction they couldn’t afford.

  For once, Raul did as she asked and kept stride with her in silence. When they reached Gordon Klein’s office, Kate applied the key card they’d stolen a day earlier at a coffee shop. The lock clicked open.

  They strolled in like they owned the place. Luckily the corner office was deserted. Raul closed the door to the hallway while Kate flipped on the lights. The office was swank, the window blinds were lowered, and they were alone. Kate made a beeline for the desk. As her intelligence hinted, the safe was located in the first place she would’ve looked anyway: behind the large painting of Mount Hood behind Klein’s desk.

  Raul finished checking the auxiliary office, and gave her a thumbs up. Thankfully, they hadn’t walked in on a secretary, cleaning person, or worst of all, Klein himself.

  She leaned the painting along the wall and turned to the safe. Too bad it didn’t have an electronic lock. She was far more confident of her ability to hack circuits than finesse tumblers. From her briefcase, which she’d settled on the desk, she selected her safe-cracking tool: a stethoscope. She settled in to try her luck.

  Just as she was getting into the groove, Raul said, “These fellows certainly hit the ground running. I figured they would need another year to get financing.”

  Kate glanced up, biting back an irritated comeback. Raul was reading through the glitzy marketing pamphlets from the desktop. She’d seen those same pitches online, making claims about the future wonders quantum computing would offer. She doubted the pamphlets mentioned where the quantum breakthrough had originated. With a noncommittal “mmm,” she returned to her work.

  Safecracking by dint of old-fashioned lock manipulation wasn’t easy. It required tremendous patience. If she failed, she’d have to resort to her fallback option – an explosive detonation. Which would draw whatever security lurked in the newly decorated offices of September Project, LLC, so she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Raul watched her without further interruption for another minute before shrugging, dropping the pamphlets, and bending to his smartphone.

  Kate still worried about Raul. That worry was probably the reason she’d been so short with him lately. He seemed back to normal. But her trust would never return completely. She’d seen someone else look out from Raul’s eyes. Instead of her friend, for a little while, he’d been Jason. Supposedly, he was back to being Raul again. Except… How could she know for sure?

  “What?” Raul was looking at her. She realized she’d turned all the way around and was staring at him, not safecracking.

  Kate sighed. Maybe now was the time after all. They were alone, and the safe wasn’t going anywhere. “Raul, you said that Jason’s gone. And maybe that’s true. But look at it from my perspective. There’s no way for me to test it, especially if he can draw on your mem
ories and pretend to be you.”

  “Listen–”

  “Let me finish! The thing is, you know a lot more about all this than you should. Even more than me, and I’m the one who brought you in. For instance, why’re you so concerned about my stupid dreams? Do you know something? And why the hell do you think they’d have anything to do with Ardeyn or, what’d you call it, the Strange? What gives?”

  “I told you,” said Raul slowly, a pained expression on his face, “Jason let a few things slip, and I picked up–”

  “Bullshit,” said Kate. “I’m the one who found out about the September Project, not you. Why didn’t Jason let that slip?”

  “It doesn’t work like–” Raul started.

  “On the other hand,” she gestured with the stethoscope chest piece she’d been using on the safe, “you have this unsettling new familiarity with all this, or as I heard you mutter last week, the ‘limited worlds beneath Earth.’ I guarantee you that stuff isn’t on Wikipedia, because I’ve looked.”

  Raul rubbed his eyes. Finally he said, “They’re called recursions, Kate.”

  “What are?”

  “The limited worlds that Earth hosts. And you’re right, I do know more about this than I’ve let on. I’ve always known.”

  “I knew it!” She’d spoken louder than she’d intended. Pitching her voice back down to a whisper, she said “You’re still Jason!” Her hand dropped to her 9mm’s holster.

  “No. Jason returned to Ardeyn. But, I’ve never been exactly who you think. I’m… well, there’s no easy way to say this. Like you said before, this isn’t the time to go in–”

  “It’s the perfect time.”

  He glanced around Klein’s office, swallowed, and said, “All right. Brace yourself.”

  “I’m braced.”

  “I’m not from Earth. I’m from a recursion. One that has hidden in the dark energy network – we call it the Strange – long before Ardeyn was created by Carter Morrison.”