by Ted Fauster
The chicken nodded. “Yes.”
“And, well, my question was—”
“Sounds like they are going to send out your seed.”
“My… my seed?”
“Yeah, you know, your essence. Would you like me to find a training tape on that?”
“No, that’s not entirely necessary. I was hoping you could just tell me what this is all about?”
The chicken nodded. “Sure, doll. When you root into the ground, parts of you can be trimmed off and replanted. This way you can grow into another tree. It’s perfectly safe.”
That sounded so strange. “So I can… be in more than one place at a time? How exactly does that work?”
“It’s simple. There are two yous. That’s it.”
“Right. Okay. But… which me is the real me?”
“Both of ’em.”
“Both. Right.”
The chicken cleared his throat. “Claire, you’re gonna have to get used to stuff like this over here. It’s all perfectly natural. What you are is unique. I can’t think of any other creature that can do this. The parts of you that are trimmed off can be planted. Eventually, they grow into another tree, another you. And you can be the two yous at the same time.”
That sounded so, so weird. “Okay then. But in this particular case they are going to burn what they trim off of me.”
Uncle Clucker nodded. “Oh, I get you now. In this case, they must be wanting you to grow back real fast. See, when they trim off a piece and just plant it, it takes a while for the new you to grow—couple of years, actually. But when they cut off a piece and burn it, they are turning you into a kind of concentrated you. This way they can cast your you-stuff into the wind, guide that wind, and then stick you back into the ground so you can emerge again as a whole new you. Kinda like you did when you first got here.”
Her mind reeled. “Wow, I’m almost sorry I came in here and asked.”
The chicken smiled. “Anytime, doll.”
“Everything alright, dear?” the Reverend Mother asked once she had returned to the garden.
“Yes. Yes, everything is fine now. I’m ready.”
Claire sat cross-legged in the center of the central flower garden. As the Reverend Mother had instructed, she closed her eyes and brought the tips of her ring fingers and thumbs together. She took a deep meditative breath, concentrating on the soft coolness of the grass against her skin, the warm kiss of the suns, and the soft whispering breath of the wind.
Babcha Mishka stood beside her, head bowed, her wrinkled fingers clenched around the handle of an axe. Claire could sense everything around her from the depth and beauty of the crater gardens to the curl of the surrounding mountains that loomed around them, an icy cold reminder of the harsh and terrible world beyond.
She was lucky to have been brought to this place, she knew, and she would miss it dearly. But there was work to do. Her adventure was just about to start. She took another deep breath. She was ready.
She stood and stretched both arms out to her sides, allowing her hands to droop limply. She locked her knees and dug her toes into the soil. She slowed her breathing and pushed all negative thoughts from her mind. Her nixies swarmed.
The wood-flesh of her inner thighs and feet stitched together. Her ankles cracked and bent. Her toes grew numb and lengthened, shooting deep down into the moist soil. The rest of her body stretched and grew, hardening as it did, her arms splintering apart, her head dividing, her hair thickening and unwinding like a giant ball of yarn, until she had returned to the form of the mighty cedar.
She did as she had been instructed, loosening her thoughts… dumping each one of them away… slowly… until she barely perceived any tangible thoughts at all. She stood almost drunkenly, swaying, her state of mind now lingering somewhere in between the conscious world and some other much more fantastic place.
Somewhere on the other side she felt the slice, a deep, burning pain that tore through her shoulder. For a moment she nearly lost herself and broke free from the meditative state, but she steeled her will and recovered. The pain melted away. And although she now felt a bit off balance, she still felt strangely whole. The Reverend Mother’s voice came to her.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Arythria,” the Reverend Mother asked one last time. “With the wind’s help, we can manage that.”
“No.”
Claire was determined. In her research in the pseudo-net, she had stumbled across something unique and strange, a link to another consciousness she should have probably never encountered. But she had.
“Send me to the forest, like I asked. Send me to the forests outside of the Mamertine Crypts.”
The mark on the man, some inner blemish only the angel could perceive, was undeniable. At least that’s what Maltheus Falfax kept insisting. According to him, the man was most definitely from Earth, that much was clear. But whether or not he was Jack Rowan was anyone’s guess.
“I’ve simply no way of telling for sure,” Maltheus finally admitted, leaning back into the puffy chair and crossing his arms. “But the potion I gave him will most definitely clear things up, although it might take several days before his memories fully return.”
Hanna was perplexed. “But then… how did you know it was me when I first arrived?”
“When the transference successfully occurs, your personality and memories knit into your astral string, funneling into the vacant vessel that once was your soul. To myself, and only myself, that spot shines like a light and the signature is as clear as day.”
Hanna and Som sat across from the desk, wrapped in thought. Time was something they had little of. Hanna, for one, was sick to death of the lonely complex. She wanted to get out, to be out and see the world. She snapped her fingers.
“I read something about a Candle of True Identity. That will tell you for sure, right?”
Maltheus looked tired. He’d only returned less than an hour before and looked entirely drained. “If the person is telling the truth about who they are, and if they are correct. But if this man is Jack Rowan but believes otherwise, the candle will kill him. Hanna, you have to understand how rare it is that another human from one of the first batches has found their way to Arythria, which is very likely the case here. We’ll just have to wait for the potion to kick in to find out for certain.”
Som thought hard. “Isn’t there a faster way?”
Maltheus had his elbow in the crook of his left hand and his right hand on his chin. At first, Som thought he hadn’t heard him. But then he said, “Well, yes. The Sisters of Cynthiana have the ability to sense beings from other worlds, as do the wild fairy races. No one seems to know how or why. To tell the truth, I hadn’t known about wild fairies having this ability myself until just very recently.”
“Well then, let’s just get one of them in here,” Som suggested. “Or use the last egg to take him to one of these Sisters. Or to see a wild fairy, for that matter.”
Maltheus seemed bent on a singular thought. “And you know nothing of the Sisters?”
Som shrugged. “It’s like I told you, a man with a big purple hat provided us with the eggs. He said nothing of any Sisters.”
“Maltheus raised a brow. “And you didn’t catch his name?”
Som shrugged.
Maltheus held the final egg in his hand, studying its many jeweled facets. “In any case, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. A strange storm seems to have knocked out all communications and all pentalpha travel. I can’t even call up my sources from the other realms. I’m afraid we’re in a total state of blackout.”
“But what about that last egg?” Som pressed.
Maltheus carefully placed it back into the box and shut the lid. “We cannot use it. Not now. We will simply have to wait for the potion to take effect.”
The door to the office suddenly opened. Arnsworth stepped in.
“Master Maltheus, it seems we have a bit of a situation.”
They rushed to the nearest elevator. An
din remained in the custody of the Anuran guards, which was the only option they currently had. The elevator lurched to the side and then plummeted down like a rickety rollercoaster.
“What is it?” Hanna asked, holding firmly onto the hand rail. But Arnsworth would say nothing.
They exited into a musty corridor. Two leather-clad Anurans noticed them coming and grabbed a long pull chain. An iron door in the wall clanked up in noisy jerks. A room no bigger than a coat closet lay beyond. They all squeezed in, elbow to elbow, and then Maltheus pulled a switch and the tiny room dropped into the ground.
When the door opened again, Hanna nearly fell flat on her face at the sight of the unbelievable chamber that it opened upon. They were in a massive cave now, long stalactites dripping from the ceiling. The space was humid and smelled like a giant fish tank. It would have surely been very dark if not for the magnificent glowing structure that took of much of the center of the chamber.
Layers of metal scaffolding rose up from the stone itself. Dozens of daylight-bright lights attached to tall towers beamed down onto the basin of water the scaffolding surrounded. On a platform beside the massive structure stood several Anuran guards armed with long pikes, and some others dressed in white lab coats holding clip boards. At their approach, the ones in the white coats turned around.
“Master Maltheus,” one of them said. “The vault in the Eastern Seas has captured something.” The angel seemed pleased. He instructed Arnsworth to take Hanna and Som to a platform high up on the scaffolding. Something big was about to happen.
From their perch they looked down on the giant pool of water that swirled around and around. The surface of the pool began to roil with bubbles, and then a strong breeze kicked up, causing the mighty structure to groan and sway. Hanna held onto the railing, as did Som, and as they both watched in awe, the pool swirled around faster and faster until a large sucking noise sounded and a giant hole developed at its center.
To their absolute shock and amazement, a big metal slug of a ship popped through, a barrel-shaped vessel covered in rusting plates of iron. There was a man at the wheel, a man with celery colored hair and pale-green skin. What looked like a giant hamster stood at his side.
“Who the hell are they?” Jack asked. Marlin had no answer. He shook his head in wonderment as Manny and the Raratong rushed out to the main deck, spears at the ready. Jack signaled for them all to remain calm.
“There’s n… no way out of here,” the little rodent nervously stammered.
Indeed, the spiral tunnel of water that had flushed them from the ocean had receded. The Prinkipria now bobbed gently within a landlocked pool surrounded by barnacle-encrusted scaffolding. They were in some kind of large subterranean chamber filled with bright lights. Jack’s eyes adjusted at last, and he watched helplessly as the side of the ship slid around and was tied off by a strange band of orange-and-black, spotted frog creatures.
Jack stepped cautiously forward, the long cutlass clenched firmly in his hand, but he didn’t dare step down onto the dock. Although the ones in white coats didn’t appear to be armed, the frogmen in leather armor standing off to the sides most certainly were. Each one had a long pike pointed straight at them. Several more up in the scaffolding, he saw, had crossbows trained on them as well.
He cursed inwardly. They had been tragically duped and now stood outgunned. Probably pirates. Or worse. He chose a different tactic and let the tip of his sword droop toward the deck. He stuck out the palm of his free hand.
“Now… let’s just all of us here relax.”
“Jack!”
The voice came to him from above, from high up in the scaffolding. But he had yet to spot anyone. He heard footsteps running across metal, and then a crimson-colored feline shape grabbed onto the ship’s rail.
The red face split into a big grin. “Jack Rowan? Can that really be you?”
The voice sounded strangely familiar, at least the intonations did. But the catwoman wrapped in furs was most certainly not. Still, he could make an educated guess. She climbed over the rail and crept cautiously forward.
“Hanna? Is that you?”
The woman’s big amber eyes lit up. She rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck to hug him deeply. The frogmen in lab coats shuffling nearby had no idea what to do, but the sudden presence of the unmistakable figure of a man dressed in a stiff black suit calmed them considerably. With a wave of his hand he called everyone off and then stood smugly with his arms behind his back.
“Welcome!” the man who could only be Maltheus Falfax said. “Welcome, at last, to Arythria!”
“I can’t believe it.” Hanna pushed back on his shoulders as if suddenly unsure. She looked up at him. “It is you, right?”
Jack laughed. “Yeah, I know. I look like I drank too much Irish beer.” A blue-skinned man with wings came fluttering down. Despite the absolute weirdness to his physical form, the smile was undeniable. “Som? That’s gotta be Som.”
“The one and only.” Som stuck out his small hand. Jack shook it firmly.
“It’s good to see you,” Jack said. “Good to see both of you.”
“It seems you’ve brought some new friends with you,” Falfax commented.
“Marlin is my name,” the little rodent said, boldly stepping forward. But instead of his hand he offered the tip of his shortsword. The collective bulk of the Raratong fell in behind him, spears jutting out like an angry porcupine. “And if you’ve any harm planned for any of our crew you might as well be out with it now.”
Falfax gave a chuckle. “No harm indeed. Although I suspect a certain gnome may have a few questions for you in particular.”
The truth came out at lunch, which was served in a gilded hall, the pocketed ceilings of which were filled with more of the brightly colored, gas-lit glass sculptures that seemed to be found everywhere throughout the glorious halls of Arythria. From the slight odor, Jack suspected they burned with brynstan oil, but the sheer vastness of the space easily vented the fumes away. Overall, the place had an almost modern appeal, marvelously grand and impeccably appointed. Not at all what Jack had expected.
The very tall walls of the dining hall were quite literally covered with hundreds of portraits that hung in rich, gilded frames that echoed the earnestness of the crimson-and-gold carpet. They stood five rows high in an endless parade of staring faces that spread around the entire circumference of the grand room. From each canvas, men and women of all sorts of races looked down upon them, all dressed in the attire of the realm, and all looking to be somewhere in their early twenties.
“We dine in a hall of heroes,” the angel said with a grand sweeping gesture as they found chairs around the long and well-appointed table. “The men and women you see upon these walls are your kin, your fellow travelers from Earth.”
If Jack’s jaw had not been joined to his head it would have hit the floor. “The hell you say.”
“It’s true,” Hanna said, bobbing her head. She gave a hopeful smile. “We’re not alone, Jack.” But Falfax, whom everyone seemed to be referring to as simply, Maltheus, offered a more sobering analysis.
“Sadly, nearly all were lost, the unfortunate victims of an unrefined transference process. Only a small handful managed to keep their wits about them, and some of them actually succeeded at several very important tasks. But most arrived with no memories at all and were never recovered.”
“Well, it seems there is hope for at least one,” Hanna commented. She pointed across the hall. A tall frogman dressed in butler garb approached. A rather disoriented man in an armored leather jacket walked by his side.
Maltheus held a finger beside his nose. “Gentle words, please. This man is from Earth, but he has only recently remembered so.”
“Pardon the interruption,” the frogman announced as they drew near. “But I believe there shall be one more gentleman joining us for lunch.” The orange frogman, who was introduced as Arnsworth, pulled out a chair and the bedraggled man dropped into it. His eyes flic
ked from one person to another.
In addition to Jack, the geography of the table now included the man in the armored jacket, the creatures Hanna and Som had transformed into, Maltheus, Marlin, Arnsworth, Manny and all of the Raratong. A rather ugly purple creature who had been introduced as Fenwick was already seated when they arrived. The wiry little being sat slouched in an oily brown jumpsuit, grumbling to himself and cracking his disjointed knuckles as if there were someplace else he wished to be.
Maltheus gave a slight bow to the latest arrival. “I’m so very glad you could join us,” he said. “And whom shall I say we have the pleasure of dining with?”
The man looked up strangely. “I am Astinos, Astinos of Sparta.”
15
Best Laid Plans
“Welcome back to us, Astinos of Sparta,” Maltheus warmly offered. “It’s been a long journey, my brave dungeoneer, but you are now amongst friends, people of Earth.”
The man said nothing, although the look on his face told volumes.
Maltheus had explained there were others here, people from different times. How strange it must be for this man to now realize who he really was, what he was really doing here. His life here had apparently been a lie for a very long time. That must have been crushing.
Despite everything that had happened in the last few days, Jack suddenly felt much better about the entire situation. He was here. He was alive and healthy. So he had a job to do. So what. Truth be told, it really wasn’t a whole lot different than being a cop.
At least now he had his legs back… and a ship!
But how many others were out there? How many other beings or creatures were wandering around this world with no idea who they truly were?
Jack felt sorry for Andin, or Astinos, as it were. He truly did. Still, there was something about the man that just seemed a little off. Perhaps his opinion would change in time.
Fenwick fidgeted, but Maltheus waved him off and stood to address the table.