Reality's Plaything

by Will Greenway

  He pioneered the first magically interpretable analogue correction matrices for fractal compression of interpolated particulate helices.

  In other words, he made teleportation a reality. I wonder if he realized the gorgon he was unleashing on the universe..?

  —From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  « ^ »

  Bannor stood on the cliff ledge looking at the sharp rocks and trees below concentrating on getting his Nola to transport the party. He pulled his parka tighter as gusts of mountain air hummed in his ears, and ran icy fingers across his scalp. Stars and shafts of moonlight glimmered through rips in a blanket of clouds that churned around the high peaks overlooking the pass.

  Lost in concentration, he sensed the members of the group only as silhouettes dimly illumined by moonlight. Horses nickered, tails swished, and boots stomped on stone.

  Bannor didn’t know his Garmtur had granted his wish until colors began spinning in his vision. By then, he couldn’t change his mind or try to stop what he’d set in motion. He saw his power reach out and envelope the people and horses in giant gold tendrils. He saw their bodies tense and sensed the surprise that erupted from their minds. By the time anyone cried out, the whole experience would be over. For him, the instant stretched out immeasurably.

  In his mind’s-eye, a web of crisscrossing threads appeared on the ground and in the sky. He’d been told they were flux lines, river-like currents of the world’s magic. The light from them grew brighter. Nearby, several filaments intersected in what Wren called a node. To his eye, the juncture looked more like a depression than a bulge. Its pattern resembled a spider’s web only with the center-most point stretched so it looked a tremendous distance away.

  A thick red line shot from Bannor’s chest into the flux point. The cord pulled taut. He felt forces within the node begin sucking at him, drawing him in the way a whirlpool pulled down a ship.

  The gold bands stretching from him to the people and animals shimmered white. As the radiance increased, so did his awareness of his passengers. He knew every iota of their beings. Bannor felt that ultimate knowledge fill him as if it were a substance, pouring into him like molten lead, burning hot and crushingly heavy.

  Knowing each creature so totally made them malleable to his Nola, susceptible to the sideways twist that compressed their bodies into energy that flowed toward the flux point along with him.

  The transition between material and immaterial took the length of an eye blink. His view of the cave and the cliff bent. In that last instant, he heard metal snap and sensed Meliandri change. Then his body and hers liquefied.

  The stars became streaks against an ebony background. Heat turned to cold. Stillness changed to a sense of acceleration. He felt the people and horses like a huge cloak flowing behind him as he shot down a tunnel of spinning colors. Bannor erupted out the far end of the shaft into a gray void. Clouds of blackness shot through with stars roiled through the emptiness. Flux lines skewed out in all directions like arteries in a human body. A pulsation reverberated around him, the heartbeat of eternity.

  Poised with infinity spread out around him, Bannor realized that something was horribly wrong. An instant ago, he knew where to go—the path, once clear in his mind had vanished.

  He possessed no body to feel with or he would have felt a rush of fear at the thought of being eternally lost. He halted, juxtaposed between reality and the transition realm. If he chose the right path they’d arrive where they needed to be—choose wrong and they might appear a billion leagues from home.

  A sense of danger interrupted his moment of indecision. Another entity had entered the void close by. Hecate’s crushing presence flooded out of the flux point, a black pulsating mass of tentacle-like projections.

  Could one intangible creature hurt another? Did he want to find out? It wasn’t only the danger to him, but the threat to the five people and seven horses that rode with him. Whatever happened to Bannor would happen to them as well.

  A million possible courses and only an instant to choose. He felt the god’s presence like a giant hand reaching to capture him.

  As he searched for signs of the right way, an idea flashed. The gate. The one the Queen wanted to shut. Laramis had described it as huge permanent gap that bridged the space between Sharikaar and Hecate’s home realm. That magical doorway would take titanic amounts of power to keep open, so much that its magic might even be visible here in this transient zone. He scanned franticly for a sign that might show him where the gate lay as he felt himself being dragged back toward the dark presence.

  A pulsating tangle of lines caught his attention. That might be it. No time for another guess, Hecate almost had him.

  Bannor willed himself into the flux line. The sensation felt like being jerked into an undertow. The current grabbed him and yanked him along. In that instant, he felt a burning rip of pain as if a knife were slicing down his body. A woman’s scream resonated through him, a howl of agony and terror that stretched on and on.

  They hit the end of flux line and were expelled through the nexus with a twist. The woman’s frantic screams ended as a landscape flickered into being around him. Trees and hills shimmered into view as if rapidly painted onto a world-sized canvas, starting with blacks and grays, then in color. The last to return were sound and sensation. Weight reasserted itself, and with it a nauseating dizziness that made him drop to his knees.

  Bannor tried to stay oriented and discover who or what had been wailing. Heart hammering, he prayed it wasn’t Sarai. Echoes of the sound repeated in his head, the shriek of someone whose soul was being ripped apart. Chills raced through him.

  With relief he saw Sarai and Janai staggering together, struggling for balance, but appearing unhurt. With their heavy fur parkas on, it looked like a pair of broadpaws grappling. The Queen gripped her head and groaned, disoriented, but not dying. Wren and Laramis glanced around scarcely affected at all.

  Who yelled? Movement drew his attention to Meliandri. His nauseous stomach knotted as he saw the elf healer convulsing in the grass, flopping as if boneless. Her green eyes were wide and glassy. Spittle ran from the corners of her mouth. The lady’s dusky skin had turned the color of snow.

  Odin. Not all of them escaped Hecate’s grasp. Somehow the goddess managed to get a hold on her unwilling host. The poor woman’s essence had been scattered across the void. He shuddered.

  Did they elude Hecate? Something else seemed wrong. His vision flickered as he scanned for signs of the black thing, nothing but orange streaked clouds and a blue sky. Clouds? Daytime? When they left it had been night!

  “Laramis!” Wren called.

  “Ukko help me.” The paladin rushed to stand over the twitching elf woman. “She’s broken the bonds.”

  Sarai and her sister thumped down in the grass with looks of pain on their faces. Only the Queen moved forward, and she moved with halting steps as if unsure of her footing.

  “Odd,” Laramis muttered. He shouldered off his parka, knelt, and then put his palm against Meliandri’s forehead.

  The elf froze as if the paladin’s touch had paralyzed her. The man’s eyes narrowed as he studied the woman. From his intensity, Bannor felt sure the paladin was seeing more than flesh and blood.

  “What is wrong with her?” the Queen asked.

  “Apparently, Hecate tried to manifest within her at the same moment Bannor transported us. The goddess’ ties to her are completely severed now.” His face took on a pained expression and his tone dropped. “It appears to have damaged her mind though.”

  Kalindinai eyes widened. “You’re certain?”

  “See for yourself, milady.” Laramis drew his hand away from Meliandri’s face. The elf lady stared up at the sky with empty green eyes, drool leaving a glistening trail on her face.

  Meliandri’s expression reminded Bannor of some of the wounded he’d seen in the war. Warriors struck in the head who’d lost their ability to think.


  The Queen drew a breath. Her lower lip trembled, then pressed to a line. She clenched her fists at her sides and muttered a curse Bannor didn’t catch.

  Kalindinai’s reaction surprised him. In the time he’d known her, the woman showed little compassion. She appeared to love her daughters, but it was a love with little compromise.

  The Queen knelt and stroked Meliandri’s brow. The healer woman remained unresponsive, her gaze fixed on infinity.

  “Can anything be done?” Wren asked.

  Laramis shook his head.

  The grim look on the paladin’s face made a chill go through Bannor. He fought to his feet and went to Sarai. “Okay?”

  She nodded. He touched Janai’s shoulder and waited for a nod before going to stand by Laramis. Wren glanced at him, her expression stony.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything better to say. He’d done as the Queen asked, but, as usual, the Garmtur worked in unpredictable ways.

  The Queen looked up. Her violet eyes bored into him. Her jaw worked as though she might say something scathing. No words came, she simply turned her attention back Meliandri.

  Relief washed through Bannor. He’d braced for a verbal attack. He knew little about Meliandri. When they had first met, the healer had shown kindness to him. As Hecate’s avatar, she had almost killed Janai and himself. Even knowing she’d unwillingly become the goddess’ weapon, made it hard for him to forgive. Still, did anyone deserve torment like that? Her mental screams still made his flesh crawl.

  Kalindinai spoke in a low voice. “She has been a loyal retainer for over three centuries.” She stopped and swallowed. “I knew this girl when she—” her voice faltered and her body stiffened. She rose, turned and strode a few steps to look off the hilltop.

  Bannor had glimpsed what the Queen was trying to hide. Tears. He could only imagine what it would feel like to lose someone you’d known for centuries. He remembered the agony of his brother’s loss, and they’d only been together fifteen summers.

  Odin, they didn’t need more delays. Bad enough he didn’t even know where they’d reappeared. If they didn’t get into the north country soon, they might lose Irodee and DacWhirter as well.

  Sarai and Janai helped each other to rise. Together they went to stand with their mother. The three elves knelt, and with heads bowed put arms around one another.

  Bannor glanced at the frozen expression on Meliandri’s face. As he stared at the lady, he imagined what it must have been like to have her intellect subjugated by Hecate, her personality crushed by the moon goddess’ evil influence. If Hecate got her way, she’d do the same to him—Wren too, if the chance came along. A cold tingling shot down his spine. Death didn’t scare him, but dying like that?

  “You okay, Bannor?” Wren asked.

  He met her gaze and nodded.

  Wren studied Meliandri and drew a breath. “It’s a shame. Nice lady, I liked her. Damn it. Not fair that this should happen.” She put a palm against his chest and looked up at him. “Let’s put Meliandri’s tragedy aside for a moment.” She pointed at the sun, which was near zenith. “Did you notice that it’s daylight?” Bannor glanced at the sky and she continued. “Where’s the mountain, Bannor?” Her voice cracked. “Where’d you put the damned mountain?”

  Laramis rubbed his temples. “Methinks Bannor might have overshot a trice.”

  “A trice!?” Wren glared around. “I don’t recognize anything! Are we even on the same continent? Hades! The same planet?”

  “Couldn’t help it,” Bannor said, trying not to sound defensive. “Hecate was chasing us.”

  “Hecate?”

  “She tried to take over Meliandri and followed us into the node. She must have hung on to her when I ran.”

  Wren scowled, apparently absorbing the new information. “You mean Hecate actually came into—”

  He nodded.

  Wren looked at Laramis. “Is that possible?”

  The paladin shrugged. “Little the pantheon lords do surprises me.”

  “Do you think she knows where we’re at?”

  Bannor shook his head. “If Hecate knew, she’d be here.”

  “Good point.” Wren smacked her thigh in frustration. “Damn, now what do we do?” She shielded her eyes from the sun and surveyed the landscape.

  They stood on a hilltop looking out over a verdant plain studded with rocks and trees. Three large valleys cut across the low-lying terrain in what, judging by the sun, should be west. The scent of grass and sage hung heavy in the air. The breeze came sharp and brisk against his skin. The sun’s rays were already making Bannor sweat, especially clothed in the heavy parka. He unfastened the clasps and pulled it off.

  Where had they reappeared? Bannor didn’t see anything familiar, either. Could it be as bad as Wren thought? In those last moments, the choice of which flux line to enter seemed almost obvious. Obvious or not, the results spoke for themselves. He saw nothing that he recalled from any of his travels.

  Laramis studied the landscape with the same intensity as Wren, fingers rubbing his chin. “Something about this area…” His voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know,” the paladin said. “Those four lines of hills.” He pointed toward the south and west.

  In that direction, the terrain dipped and became a series of folds that resembled bunched-up green cloth. The hilltops looked bare except for low-lying foliage. Where Laramis pointed, the folds converged into a large dome-shaped headland. Beyond them, thick clouds shrouded the horizon.

  Even if he did not know those particular formations, they looked distinctive enough to exist on a map as a landmark.

  “We should head out,” Bannor said. He glanced at the horses, which had wandered little from where they had appeared. Tails swishing, they seemed content to munch on the thick grass. “If we can find a river, we’ll find villages and towns, and hopefully someone who can tell us where we are.”

  “Agreed,” Wren said.

  Sarai came and wrapped an arm around him. She put her head on his shoulder. Her violet eyes looked dewy.

  “How’s your mother?” he asked.

  “She’s hurting,” Sarai said in a subdued voice. “Meliandri’s been with the family a long time.”

  “We should not mourn her passing just yet,” Laramis said. “There might be a way to heal her.”

  “Mother thinks so, too.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to do. Meliandri’s not dead.” Bannor noticed how she avoided looking at the healer. “She’s not alive either. We can’t care for a…” she stopped. “I think seeing her waste away will be even more painful for Mother.”

  Bannor pulled her close. She reminded him of how his sister had reacted to his brother Rammal’s death. It had hurt Ravan, but not in the same way it had crushed his mother. Treena had been so confused, suffering both for herself and for her mother.

  “We need to go,” he said.

  “I know,” Sarai answered.

  “Eye of Ukko,” Laramis muttered to Wren. “I know that formation looks familiar.”

  The savant shook her head, looking somber. Bannor guessed she was already bracing herself to lose Irodee.

  Sarai stiffened. “You, too?” She looked over at Laramis. “That formation out there?” She pointed to the dome-shaped hill.

  “Aye, the same. Have you seen it too, milady?”

  She shut her eyes. “I thought perhaps it was only wishful thinking.” Her brow furrowed. “It reminds me of a place in southeastern Malan…” Her eyes snapped open. “Grimaldi basin!”

  Wren’s face lit up. Her voice grew animated. “Grimaldi? If we’re east, then we’re looking at the back of Honig’s fist! That puts us only ten leagues North of where the Elven scouts reported seeing Hecate’s army coming out of the gate! We may have actually have bought some time!”

  Bannor hugged Sarai. She put her face in the curve of his neck. The stiffness remained in her body, though.

  Even though the group now knew t
heir location, there remained a stickier problem, one that would be harder to solve. Over Sarai’s shoulder, he saw Meliandri as she stared unblinking at the cloudless sky.

  What would they do with Meliandri?

  * * *

  Dimensions—they are what the obtuse call alternate interpretations in real space.

  Many millennia ago the pantheons developed techniques for the creation of causal anomalies that allowed crossing between fixed realities.

  The method that evolved from those efforts still needed considerable refinement when the decision to terminate the project was made. Considering the lead researchers had all killed each other half a dozen times during the project, it was felt that the end product should be used as is before jealousy and arrogance destroyed their work forever…

  —From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  « ^ »

  Bannor checked the last of the horses, running his fingers along its silky hide. The stocky thickmanes remained jittery and trembled under his hand.

  “It’s okay,” he soothed, scratching between its ears. Taking the lead strap, he led the animal to where the others waited.

  He glanced to where his mate, her sister and the Queen stood together with Laramis and Wren. The body of Meliandri lay between them like a patient in an exorcising ritual. The horses weren’t the only tense ones. The Queen looked as stiff as ingot steel. The only movements the woman made came from the flick of her hair in the wind and the occasional twitch of a finger. Sarai and Janai looked anxious and fatigued, obviously concerned over their mother’s distress. Wren and Laramis visibly struggled to exert some control over the situation.

  The ruler of the most powerful nation on Sharikaar heeded counsel when she asked for it. To further complicate matters, as a society, elves disliked infirmity. In some of the smaller Elven communities, the crippled, maimed, or disfigured often got sent away. Many of these outcasts came to live in human communities and became parts of human families. The elves called these people the duna agon, the half men.