Through a Mirror, Darkly

by R F Hurteau

  “Of course, your Lordship. Forgive me.”

  Felix glanced over the Elf’s shoulder to see that the last of their group had disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel.

  “Never mind. Get back through the Evenmire and out of my sight. I’ll deal with you later.”

  He looked around, doing a quick count. Only ten of the guards had returned. “All of you!”

  They offered synchronized nods of confirmation and spun on their heels, marching back toward Antiquity’s Gate, where they disappeared.

  Felix saw the Weaver’s head appear from the entrance to the tunnel, but he shook his head wildly, waving his arms.

  “Not yet!” he mouthed, though he doubted the Elf could read his lips at this distance. He held up two fingers to indicate that two of the Envicti were still inside the drill. Then he moved to the hatch and dropped down, hoping to hurry them along.

  The remaining two Envicti were standing watch over the four occupants of the vehicle. Three were kneeling, bound and gagged. The fourth was lying on his side, knees drawn up to his chest, hands tied behind his back.

  A gash across his thigh was oozing blood, creating a small puddle that slid backward along the tilted deck toward the rear wall. The man raised his face up, nose pouring blood, his eyes widening as they met Felix’s.

  This was not Bohai’s man. This was a face from Felix’s past.

  Ben, from Pod Manufacturing, who had always been kind to him, lay battered and bleeding on the floor of the Culeian vessel.

  There was so much blood. An image flashed in his mind’s eye. An image of Mr. Wilks, who Felix had been powerless to save.

  But a voice snapped him back into reality.

  “Felix?” Ben rasped. “But, what are—”

  Felix stepped forward and, hating himself, pressed a foot to Ben’s wound. The young man cried out in agony.

  “The Council does not wish to share the secrets of this technology,” he said loudly over Ben’s lingering moans. “Not even with the Envicti. Get out. The good Ambassador will assist me in piloting the drill through the Evenmire.”

  “But, your Lordship,” protested one of the remaining guards.

  “Out!” roared Felix, not needing to pretend to sound angry. He was angry. Furious, in fact.

  He didn’t turn, listening and waiting until the two Envicti had climbed out of the hatch. Then Felix fell to his knees beside Ben, untying his wrists as quickly as he could, sliding the rope between his legs and wrapping it into a makeshift tourniquet.

  “Sweet Evenmire, Ben, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let you blow my cover,” he was saying, over and over.

  Ben appeared not to have heard, his eyes unfocused, their lids drifting up and down with slow determination.

  “Ben, you can’t go to sleep. We have to get you out of here. Gavin, untie the others. Hurry, then get back to the Gate before they start to wonder why I let you stay behind.”

  “Where are my men?” Bohai demanded, using his teeth to undo the simple knot that held the rope around his wrists. Gavin was stooping down, undoing the bindings around the other prisoners. “What have you done with them?”

  One of the men pulled the gag free from his mouth. “If you mean the guys who were on this thing, they’re fine. We took them—”

  “Shut up!” Ben groaned, coming to once more. “Don’t tell them anything!”

  “Ben,” Felix began, his voice pained. But Ben only glowered at him. His next words were slurred, but deliberate.

  “So, you’re with them now, is that it?”

  “No, it isn’t like that!”

  There was a noise behind them, and Felix stood, whirling around. It was Ambrose and the others.

  “What happened here?” Ambrose asked, taking in the scene and shoving Laevus into one of the seats that lined the walls.

  “I am a Lord,” Laevus said, shocked. “I am not to be manhandled in such an uncouth manner.”

  “Shut up!” snapped Felix. “There’s no time. Ambrose, just help me get him up.” He reached down, but Ben recoiled.

  “Don’t you touch me, you traitor!”

  “I’ll do it,” said Tobias. Together, he and Ambrose pulled Ben to his feet. He swayed between them.

  Felix turned to the other hostages who were now freed and standing unsteadily on the uneven floor.

  “Can you get him back to Sanctuary?”

  The men seemed uncertain, but all of them nodded. They scurried out of the hatch and Ambrose and Tobias lifted Ben up to them.

  “Ben!” Felix called, his voice desperate. “Ben! Tell Sanctuary! Tell them the Elves are coming!” Then Felix turned to Bohai.

  “Can you pilot this thing?”

  Bohai looked unsure. “I’m not a pilot,” he said. “If we can just get my men back—”

  “There’s no time for that. If we don’t get this thing moving—fast—those Envicti are going to start wondering what’s going on. They’re going to swarm us, and it isn’t going to end well. We need to go. Now.”

  Bohai was nodding, his face pale. “All right. I’ll try,” he replied, somewhere between resignation and determination.

  “I’ll give him a hand,” Ambrose said. “How hard can it be?”

  “Me, too,” Penelope agreed, pressing forward toward the controls.

  Felix turned to Gavin. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?”

  Gavin looked at Felix, then at the Weaver, and shook his head.

  “The last few days have given me time to think. I remember my place now. And I’m still needed, back on Thera.”

  The Weaver placed a hand on Gavin’s arm and offered him a small smile. Onyx threw her arms around Gavin, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “You have been a true friend,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I will dearly miss you.”

  To Felix’s great surprise, Gavin returned her embrace.

  “And I you.”

  “Come,” the Weaver said. “You need to hurry. I will wait on this side until the coast is clear.”

  “What if they come back through?” Tobias said nervously. “Or what if they send more men out from Sanctuary to capture you? They aren’t too fond of Elves, in case you weren’t aware.”

  The Weaver let out a small chuckle.

  “I hid in Sanctuary for one hundred and twenty-five years.” He offered Toby a wink. “I think I can find a place to hide out for a couple of hours.”

  “But, what if—”

  The Weaver held up his hand. “You have plenty of what ifs ahead of you, my friend. Let me worry about my own.”

  Without another word he climbed up and out, and Gavin followed behind him.

  “Nothing’s happening, Bohai. Don’t make me regret saving you!” Felix said, a hint of urgency in his voice.

  “I’m trying,” Bohai whined. “I’ve only ever seen it done; I never actually tried memorizing it. Ah, here we go!”

  With a groan of protest, the engines roared to life.

  “Now we’re talking!” Felix clapped Bohai hard on the back. Just one last thing to do. “Let’s close her up, go find Ripley, and blow this popsicle stand!”

  He reached up, pulling himself head and shoulders out of the craft so that he could reach the latch and shut the door.

  Movement caught his eye and he looked toward the Gate.

  “Oh, no.”

  They’d been too slow. Six of the Envicti had come back through, no doubt wondering what the holdup was. Gavin stood over the prone form of one of them, rapier in hand, preparing to defend as three more advanced on him. The Weaver was wrestling with another on the ground.

  “What is it?” Onyx asked from below.

  He didn’t answer fast enough and she appeared beside him.

  “They’re in trouble!” she exclaimed. “Come on!”

  Felix followed without thought. They raced across the slippery ground, kicking up snow in their wake.

  Felix heard the sound of Tobias shouting after him but couldn’t make out th
e words. Two more Envicti had just stepped through the Gate.

  Onyx bent low, not breaking her stride, and drew out three of her tiny poison spikes.

  They were almost there.

  Felix watched in horror as one of the Envicti raised his blade above the Weaver, preparing to strike. But Onyx was faster. Her hand shot out from her body in a fluid, forceful motion and the spike flew, glittering in the weak starlight like a silver bullet, piercing the Envictus in the eye.

  He let out a scream as he clutched at his face and the Weaver turned over, thrusting his leg out in a sweeping arc that brought the guard tumbling. The Weaver grabbed the Elf’s rapier and turned back to the Envictus he had wrestled to the ground, stabbing him through the throat.

  Beside Felix there was a flash of movement, then another. Onyx had let fly two more spikes and hit two more of the Envicti. Both showed only slight annoyance at the seemingly minor injuries before they began to tremble.

  Five down, Felix thought, reaching the Weaver.

  The last of the Envicti had come through, swords drawn, and were advancing on them, forming a semicircle with their comrades. The Weaver handed the rapier to Felix, who held it awkwardly, and grabbed the second one from his other victim. The four of them stood huddled close together as the enemy advanced.

  “Felix!”

  The shout was shrill and terrified, and against his better judgement Felix chanced a glance back toward the drill.

  Penelope had her hands cupped to her mouth, and Tobias was beside her, waving frantically toward the tunnel. Turning, Felix saw a dozen men streaming out, wielding an assortment of makeshift weapons.

  Felix had no idea what to do. They would be surrounded in minutes, and he had no desire to hurt the people of Sanctuary.

  He looked at Gavin and his mother, then at the Weaver. All were staring, stone-faced, waiting for the Envicti to make their move.

  And move they did.

  With a frightening beauty, the seven advanced as one, swords gleaming. Onyx hopped backwards, letting another spike fly.

  She hit her mark. The Weaver and Gavin each moved to engage, and the rapiers sung as they whirled and danced through the icy air, their songs carrying on the wind.

  Felix let out a shout as he, too, rushed forward, swinging wildly. He had never even held a sword before now, and it was fast becoming apparent that he had no idea what he was doing. He slashed at the nearest Envictus, who danced backward, just out of reach, sneering at him in open contempt.

  This is just a game to him, Felix realized. I’m no threat.

  The thought made him angrier and he gritted his teeth, advancing quicker now, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

  The Envictus merely continued to dodge, Felix whirling the sword around and meeting only empty air. The momentum carried him in a full circle, and he drove his arm forward, thrusting with every ounce of strength he could muster.

  He watched with a mixture of shock and horror as the delicate tip of the blade disappeared inside the Elf’s chest. For a brief moment, he thought he had killed him, but when his eyes moved from the sword to the man’s face, he saw a trickle of pink foam.

  He looked the man over and saw the glint of a spike protruding from his neck.

  He whirled around, looking for another mark, and was about to shout to his mother that he could do this, he could handle himself, when he saw what was happening.

  Gavin had been holding his own against two of the guards, but the tide was turning on him. He withdrew before their onslaught, blocking again and again with no opportunity to attack.

  A spike appeared in the arm of the one closest to Felix, and he heard his mother shout, “That’s it! That’s all I have!”

  He watched in disbelief as the second one brought his sword down.

  As if in slow motion, a spray of blood followed the path of the rapier as it glided easily across Gavin’s chest, leaving a tattered shirt and a deep red valley in its wake. His eyes widened, and he fell to his knees.

  “Gavin!” Onyx screamed, racing toward him.

  Felix rushed forward as the Envictus raised his sword for the killing blow, catching him by surprise. He didn’t bother trying to block the swing—instead he plowed into him, smashing the Elf hard into the snow.

  The Envictus gasped for air as Felix pounded a clenched fist into his face. He hit him again, and again, until the Elf went still beneath him.

  Felix stood, quivering, looking around. All around him lay dead and dying Envicti. The pride of Thera, wilted in the snow like flowers taken by surprise in a late frost.

  The Weaver was panting and Onyx was leaning over Gavin, who was very still.

  “He’s still alive,” she cried. “Help me get him up!”

  Felix moved to assist, but the Weaver grabbed him by the arm. “No. I’ll do it. You go!”

  He pointed, and Felix turned to see that the Sanctuary men were almost upon them now.

  The Culeian vessel rolled between the tunnel and the Gate, obscuring them from view.

  “Felix, hurry!” cried Penelope, reaching out a hand to help him up. Felix turned to look at his mother.

  “I can’t leave him,” she said, her eyes pleading, holding one of Gavin’s arms around her neck. The Weaver was on his other side.

  “Onyx!”

  She looked at Felix for one more second, one infinitely long second. He had so much he’d wanted to tell her. So much he thought he’d have time to tell her.

  The angry cries of the men from Sanctuary were getting louder.

  “Felix, run!” Onyx and Penelope cried in unison.

  Felix ran. He leapt up onto the vessel, disappearing inside and pulling the hatch down with him.

  “Go!”

  Bohai pressed a button, pulled a lever, and they pitched forward.

  “Grab on to something!” Bohai hollered, and the sound of metal meeting ice assailed their ears. There were portholes on either side, and Felix watched as his mother disappeared through Antiquity’s Gate. He turned and saw the men outside begin hammering with fists and axes against the side of the drilling machine. Their ineffective attacks rang through the hull like hail on a rooftop.

  And then the prototype tilted farther forward still, and the men’s faces were replaced by their torsos, then their legs, then their feet.

  As the prototype disappeared beneath the ground, all Felix could see through the portholes was blackness.

  ***

  The drill bored with slow precision through the ice for hours before they reached open water. Bohai instructed Ambrose in a low voice on how to convert into amphibious mode. Felix watched with vague indifference as they dove beneath the surface of the waves.

  Felix would close his eyes and see the Envicti surrounding them, see Gavin collapsing, see his mother disappearing through the Gate.

  What could he have done differently? He hadn’t had the chance to tell her, “I forgive you.”

  Now he would never see her again.

  Bohai cleared his throat and spoke with a watered-down hopefulness that suggested he already knew what answer he would receive.

  “Shall we set a course back toward Culei?”

  “What?” Felix stood up, agitated from being torn from his thoughts. “No. No, we need to get back to Pravacordia.”

  “Present me is getting a little overexcited,” mused Laevus.

  “You. Are not. A time traveler!” Felix roared.

  Tobias sat on the floor near the back of the vessel, consulting several of Bohai’s charts. He was whispering to himself, occasionally pursing his lips, deep in thought.

  “What is it?” Felix asked after a time, noticing Tobias nodding to himself now.

  “I’ve charted a course. It’s tricky, because most of the waters are under Culeian jurisdiction. But I think I’ve found a route that should take us fairly close to Atmos without being detected.”

  “Assuming that the Culeians are even honoring any territorial agreements,” Felix said with a pointed look t
oward Bohai. “They aren’t above treachery.”

  “That’s hardly fair,” Bohai interjected, his voice meek. “The demilitarized zone that runs the length of Pravacordia’s eastern shore is part of the treaty between all three major nation-states. Of course Culei respects it.”

  “I’m sure,” Felix said sarcastically.

  He peered at the charts over Tobias’ shoulder. “Can’t we just burrow a tunnel under this landmass all the way to Atmos?”

  Bohai shook his head. “No. You are looking at thousands of miles between here and Atmos. The drill wasn’t designed to bore through solid earth for long distances, and most assuredly not through rock. It’s made more specifically for ice. Quite ingenious. You see, the drill is heated—”

  “I don’t care,” Felix said, cutting him off. “Just plot the course.”

  “I miss Pluto.” Ambrose’s doleful eyes drooped as his bushy red brow fell. “She’d have gotten us home.”

  Penelope reached out, placing her delicate arm around Ambrose’s broad shoulders.

  “There will be other ships,” she told him.

  “Not like her.”

  Felix sat back down across from Laevus, who studied him in quiet contemplation. Felix angled himself away from his brother and stared out of the porthole.

  Streams of bubbles bounced along the outer surface of the glass, the only real indication he could see that they were moving. The water stretched out as far as he could see.

  Where were Willow and the children now? Were they safe? Were they afraid? He wanted to protect them. But he’d failed Ripley. He’d failed his mother. Would he fail them, too?

  They should have found a nice deserted island. He wouldn’t mind living on coconuts. They could have raised their family in peace.

  Instead, Felix was stuck in this stupid ship in the middle of the stupid ocean.

  Suddenly furious, he rose from the chair and kicked it, hard. Everyone jumped, turning to stare at him. He sat back down, folding his arms, feeling helpless.

  “It really won’t do to throw a tantrum,” remarked Laevus, too calm.

  “Okay. Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t care what you think. I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not in the mood.”