by Layton Green
Immense. Eternal.
The silver glow increased, coalescing into a line. A pathway! Was this what he had to do to bring his brother back, cross the void and link the pathways? He would find a way to do it with his magic, or break his mind trying.
A cold wind brushed his shoulders. The first physical sensation he had felt since entering the void. How could that be? Despite his anguish over Will, fear clawed at the edges of Val’s mind.
The entity was almost on top of him. The silver thread in front of Val was still quite far, and he knew he wouldn’t reach it in time.
Still he pushed.
He had to try.
Cold all around, roaring in his ears, the sound of a thousand thunderclaps, the smell of every food he had ever tasted, a feeling of pleasure and pain so intense it paralyzed his mind, too intense, he couldn’t bear it, the beauty and the terror and the power—
“Val!”
Someone slapped him across the face. A light so bright he had to shield his eyes.
Another slap, and then a gush of cold water in his face.
Val’s eyes opened. He caught Alrick’s hand just before it slapped him again. There was an empty bucket on the floor beside him. “I’m here, Alrick,” he said in a husky voice, half-inside a dream.
Alrick had already unfastened the oculave. Val stumbled out of the chair, face dripping water, his body feeling unconnected to his mind. He moved for the door.
“Where are you going?” Alrick said.
“Does it matter? One of my brothers is dead. Probably both of them.”
Alrick grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “Oh no, my friend. That is not what just happened. Oh no no no. And your brothers are very much alive.”
“What do you mean?” Val said, after Alrick led him back into the cushioned room. Val’s roiling emotions made him feel as if the floor was unbalanced, like he was trying to stand on a waterbed. “I saw the wall of blackness. The end of the path.”
“You saw the end of the trail of probabilities pertaining to your brother’s life before he stepped through the portal,” Alrick said. “Since we don’t know where he is, we have no clue which trails after the portal were true and which were false. Even if we did know, time and space, past and present, real and unreal, can be muddled in the Void. One can never be certain about what one sees.”
“Then how do you know he’s alive? Especially if the Void contains future probabilities?”
The phrenomancer shook his head. “If he were dead in this world, his pattern would look different. It’s something a gazer is trained to recognize. Of the four pathways after the portal, only Zedock’s exhibited an atypical pattern. Zedock is dead.”
When that sunk in, Val put a hand on the wall to steady himself. “They’re alive,” he whispered. He looked up. “How do you know who Zedock is?”
Alrick reached for his gourd. “I’ve gazed for him. His death is common knowledge in New Victoria, by the way. Someone found his headless body at the base of his obelisk.” He turned and arched an eyebrow. “Your brothers?”
“I’ve no idea,” Val murmured, as if in a trance.
Alrick sipped on the gourd, his eyes never leaving Val’s. “The psionic veins we followed—the silver pathways—were your own memories. Later those of your brother. The interconnected minds of this world. Anyone with a touch of power can find them. What you just did with your magic, however . . . those colors, the pattern . . . the link between all lives, all worlds, all pathways . . . we call it the Grid. Most don’t have enough power to see it, and those who do practice for years to learn. You did it in a moment. How?”
“I have no idea. Do you know where my brothers are?”
“You saw what I saw. After they entered the portal, the probabilities are too attenuated. There’s no way to guess which path they followed.”
“Going back inside wouldn’t help?” Val asked. “Even to that other place?”
“You mean the Void? Where you almost died? No. Assuming we could reach it again, it’s far too dangerous, even for me.”
“Then how much do I owe you?”
Alrick released the gourd with a sigh of pleasure, and sank into the cushions. “Valjean Blackwood, you’ve rewarded me more than you could know. Come back to me. I can teach you. That is my price.”
Val left a stack of coins on the floor and started for the beaded doorway. “Thank you for your help.”
Alrick pushed to his elbows, his expression incredulous. “You don’t wish to know more?”
“I just want to find my brothers.”
As Val swam through the beads, Alrick said, “There is one other way.”
Val turned. The phrenomancer’s grin looked sinister in the dim light, and his long hair framed his pasty, malnourished face like a wig on a ghoul. “You must promise me you’ll come back. Gaze with me again.”
Val gave a slow nod. “If I find them, you have my word.”
Alrick reached for his gourd. “Join the Congregation. Become a spirit mage.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The final test for every spirit mage is to complete the Walk of Planes. If you manage that feat, then you will step through the final portal to become a full-fledged spirit mage. A member of the Congregation. Don’t go through the portal. Behind it, you’ll see a lake as black as the Void. This is the Pool of Souls, a portal created by one of the elders for times of war. Think of who you desire most to see, then dive into the pool and you will find them.” Alrick’s grin curled into a wicked smile. “And don’t get caught.”
Val’s mind catalogued the information. “How do you know about this?”
The phrenomancer pushed up his left sleeve to reveal a tiny octopus tattooed—no, Val realized, imprinted—in vivid colors on the underside of his biceps, as if painted by a master artist just that morning. The symbol of the Congregation, he knew.
“Because I’ve been there,” Alrick said.
-15-
The camp had fallen silent except for the snoring of the tuskers. A dome of stars crowned the inky night sky, sage and juniper infused the air.
Trying not to vomit from nerves, Will rubbed his hands together to ward off the cold while Dalen handed out a fistful of root tips that resembled brackish bulbs of garlic. “Rub in this stinkweed,” Dalen said, his face contorting as he bit into one of the bulbs and then crushed it between his palms. “It will mask your smell.”
Caleb held the potent herb out from his body. “Rub it in where?”
“Everywhere.”
“Then what?” Will asked.
“Then be ready.” Dalen put a finger up and lay on his side, his line of sight facing the single tusker guard holding the keys.
Will bit into the stinkweed and spread the brown pulp over his body as best he could, recoiling at the smell of morning breath soaked in urine. Yasmina wrinkled her nose and joined him, and Caleb did the same. As Will worked, he watched a ball of silver moonlight form in midair next to Dalen and grow to the size of a tennis ball. The will o’ the wisp shot forward, until it was a foot away from the sleeping guard.
The ball danced in front of the tusker’s face, shooting in and then retreating, dodging back and forth, brushing against his tunic. Just as Will thought the exercise was pointless, the tusker stirred and opened his eyes. Instead of sounding the alarm, he tracked the silver ball with his head, then rose to his feet in slow motion.
Dalen moved the ball backwards a few feet at a time. The tusker followed with the movements of an automaton. Dalen led the guard through the pile of sleeping tuskers, each near collision costing Will a year of his life.
After the guard passed through the center of camp, Dalen guided him towards the circle of prisoners. Will glanced at his brother. Caleb was squatting on the balls of his feet, hands ready. Yasmina hugged her knees beside him, shivery and wide-eyed, watching the scene unfold.
The silver ball danced in front of Will, then glided past him and hovered a foot from Yasmina. As the sleepwalking gu
ard stepped towards her, Caleb leaned forward and, fluid as a snake, lifted the ring of keys off the guard’s belt. Will balled his fists and held his breath, but the guard didn’t stir.
Dalen held the ball in front of Yasmina, moving it in a slow figure eight to hypnotize the guard while Caleb fumbled through the keys. Yasmina swallowed but held her position. After the longest fifteen seconds of Will’s life, Caleb found the key that fit the lock binding his length of chain to Yasmina’s. He eased the bonds to the ground, then searched for the key that unlocked the circle of iron around his waist.
None fit.
Will made frantic gestures with his hands for Caleb to hurry, then watched as his brother retried every key on the ring.
Still nothing.
They had seen this same guard chain other people to the circle; where was the key?
Just as Will started to panic, Caleb held up a finger and blew out a silent breath. He turned so Will could see him reach around the back of his waist manacle, press down with his thumb, and insert one of the keys.
The click of the lock sounded like a clap of thunder to Will. He stood as still as stone as his heart thumped against his chest. The tusker gave a soft snort but didn’t wake up.
Dalen kept the ball moving while Caleb unlocked all four of them, setting the manacles gently on the ground. He paused in front of the red-haired woman sleeping beside Yasmina; she had been kind. Will caught Caleb’s eye and wagged a finger; they had already discussed this. Not yet. Not until we’re ready to flee.
There was one more thing to do. While Dalen kept the guard in the trance, Caleb handed the keys to Will and slipped into the darkened camp, heading for the stash of provisions where the tuskers kept the prisoners’ weapons.
Moments later, Caleb’s shadowy form reappeared on the edge of camp. He was wearing his bracers and holding Will’s sword. Well done, Caleb.
Will took Yasmina by the hand and curled a finger at Dalen, just as someone behind them coughed. Will recognized the sound; one of the older men had been having coughing fits the last few nights.
The coughing quieted, and Dalen maintained the spell. Then the coughing returned, louder this time, and the tusker in Dalen’s thrall blinked.
Will clenched his fists.
The silver ball danced back and forth.
The tusker relaxed again, but the prisoner beside Yasmina stirred and gasped when he saw the tusker, before anyone had a chance to quiet him.
The tusker’s eyes popped open.
Will tossed the keys at the prisoner beside Yasmina, then rushed to tackle the guard, driving his shoulder into the creature’s chest and tripping him at the ankles as Mala had taught him. He landed on top of the tusker, pressing both hands over his mouth and nose to quiet him. Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw Dalen freeze beside Yasmina.
The tusker grunted and squealed beneath him. Will’s palms muffled the sound. It took all of his strength to hold the creature down and quiet it, and he didn’t know how to hurt it without losing his grip.
Caleb was racing towards them with the sword. The tusker bucked and reached for Will’s eyes. He head-butted the creature, then realized what a bad idea that was. His forehead felt as if it had just struck a cement wall.
Dazed, he fought to keep his hold, but the tusker jerked upward, slicing Will’s biceps with its lone tusk. Will lost his grip, and the tusker bellowed, causing shouts from the camp.
Fighting not to panic, his left arm spurting blood, Will grabbed his opponent’s good tusk with his right hand, then jerked the appendage upwards as hard as he could, his strong forearms ripping apart the monster’s face. The tusker emitted a wheezing scream, and Will pushed off him. Yasmina ran up and hit him on the head with one of the manacles.
Caleb ran up and handed Will the sword. The injured tusker stumbled away, clutching its ruined face. Will whipped around to find Dalen, frantic when he didn’t see him, then heard a whistle and saw the illusionist waving at him from behind the nearest rock tower.
A few of the other captives had freed themselves. Tuskers bellowed from below as Will and Caleb and Yasmina sprinted towards Dalen. The clash of steel rang out behind them, and Will turned to see the freed prisoners using their chains as weapons against their captors.
Will and the others rounded a mound of sandstone with a curved lip. Dalen led them deeper into the forest of rock formations. Footsteps pounded behind them, and Will felt the black wings of terror beating at his back, snatching his breath and propelling him forward.
Will heard some of the tuskers shouting in their rough language. “Four more there be.”
“Grilgor kill us all if no find them.”
The sounds of pursuit drew closer. Will heard the harsh whinnying of the tusker steeds. “By the Queen,” Dalen cursed. “They’ve got the steeds out.”
“Please tell me you thought further ahead than this,” Caleb said, as they dashed between two boulders.
“You doubted?” Dalen asked, his smile quick but grim. He swiveled his head as he ran, veering towards a cone-shaped formation with a sizeable overhang, like the rain flap on a tent. Will and the others crowded in as Dalen herded everyone against the back wall. “Keep as still as you can,” he said. “I can merge us with the darkness, unless they illuminate us directly.”
Which is a distinct possibility, Will thought.
The hoof beats drew closer, until they passed right by the hiding place. One of the tusker steeds turned and snorted. Will thought that was the end, until he saw Yasmina facing the steed, her palms bobbing up and down in a placating fashion. She looked deep in concentration, and her lips were moving without speaking.
The animal quieted, but one of the tuskers had a torch, and he swung it underneath the overhang. Will pressed his body as tightly as he could into the rock. The light swept towards them, illuminating the dusty ground inches from Yasmina’s feet. Finally it retreated, and the tuskers moved on, grunting and wheezing and cursing.
Long minutes passed until Will dared to speak. “Didn’t they smell the stinkweed?” he whispered.
“Of course they did, but there’s stinkweed all over this hill. Lucka, where do you think I got it? It’s amazing what one can find while relieving oneself.”
Will squeezed his shoulder. “You did good, Dalen. We owe you.”
“I can hide us in the shadows, but sunlight is something else, aike. We have to be gone by morning.” Dalen drew up his shoulders like the real wizards Will had seen, stroking his chin and considering the situation as if he had been there a hundred times.
Despite the false bravado, Will had to give him props. Dalen may not have much power, but he had used it cleverly.
“How did you soothe that horse?” Will asked Yasmina.
She looked embarrassed. “I . . . was just trying to help.”
“Yaz has always had a way with animals,” Caleb said. “They love her.”
“I’ll say,” Will said, wondering if something else wasn’t going on.
“Listen,” Dalen said. “These rocks are facing west. Let’s use their cover and head south tonight, then east at first light. We’ll walk all day if we have to, and find a place we can defend. They won’t risk a delay for four prisoners.”
“ ’Tis a good plan,” a new voice growled, followed by a group of short, albino, burly humanoids emerging from the darkness like liquid slipping out of cracks. “Except for us, that is. Ye might fool the piggies with yer little tricks, but ye won’t fool me.”
-16-
As the lead hag shuffled forward, the other two crowded in behind her. Mala grimaced and tried to push away her dread. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“What do you want from us?” Mala asked.
“I serve Zedock the Necromancer,” the majitsu added. “If you know anything of wizardry, you should know that you shall regret the day he comes to look for me.”
Mala couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Spouting threats while hanging upside down from a giant ho
ok? The arrogance of the wizard born never ceased to amaze her.
The larger hag waddled over to Mala. The creature was almost eight feet tall, the top of her head level with the soles of Mala’s feet. She watched in surprise as the hag began sniffing her toes.
Three nostrils flaring, the creature sniffed her way down Mala’s body, kneeling as she worked her way to the ends of her dark hair hanging loose below her head. After finishing with her, the hag moved to the majitsu and repeated the procedure.
When she reached the majitsu’s head, she stopped, took his face in her hands, and began sniffing harder around the top of his skull. Her mouth parted and her eyes rolled, an expression Mala took for one of pleasure or excitement, and the hag curled a finger at her minions. They waddled over and joined her in sniffing the majitsu’s head. After that, they began babbling in their language.
“What are you doing?” the majitsu said, trying to bend at the waist. “Get away from me, you filthy beasts!”
The lead hag made a few hand gestures and a parting remark, then left the room. One of the younger hags released Mala by slicing through the gray tendril holding her in place with her claw. She threw Mala over her shoulder, the other hag did the same to the majitsu, and they carried them outside.
Still bound tight, lugged like a child, Mala swept her gaze around the compound, taking in as much information as she could. Just in front of them were two low-slung, rectangular structures: the farmhouses she had seen earlier. The low ceilings made Mala guess that the hags had not built the homestead. Her assumption was strengthened by the three conical huts at the base of the hill near the rear of the compound, in the direction the lead hag was waddling.
The smaller hags carried Mala and the majitsu behind the farmhouses, to a building made of ash-colored wood, low and long like a kennel.
There was no door. Just a dim entryway lined with straw. The stench from inside was dung-ridden and gamey, like a barnyard.
The hags hoisted them inside, ducking when they entered. A walkway of wooden planks led to the rear of the tight structure, lined on either side by latticework cages made of the same ropy gray tendrils.