by Bill Fawcett
The passage then did curve downward toward his left, past bones and left-hand helices inverted widdershins. A galaxy did reel upon his left; yet the spiral arms were on the rim, and darkness dwelt within its heart, a disc of emptiness. Stars did coalesce upon his right to form a globe elongate, and it did seem as though the universe entire did move backward, and invert.
The throat he paced did upward curve, still bending leftward, and he did hear above him footsteps, that did approach in front, then did recede behind. He frowned up at them, yet still did march ahead, past glowing signs of death in birth, on and on through hallways that did ever curve unto his left. Yet it did begin to once again curve downward also, down and down, a mile or more, till at least, he did behold, upon his left —
A grinning death's head.
Father Vidicon stopped and stood stock still. A chill enveloped him, beginning at the hollow of his back and spreading upward to embrace his scalp, for he was certain that this death's head was the first he had beheld within this sightless tunnel. Then did he bethink him of the footsteps he had heard above his head, and knew with certainty (though he knew not how he knew) that those had been his own footsteps going past this place. They'd seemed inverted for, at the time, he had walked upon the outside of the throat he was now within; yea, now he walked within it once again. "In truth," he whispered, "I do wander a Klein flask."
And so it was—a tube that did curve back upon itself, then curved within itself once again, so that he passed from inside to outside, then back to inside, all unawares. Aye, forever might he wander this dark hall and never win to any goal except his own point of origin. He might well press onward ageing more and more, till at last he wold stumble through this hall, a weak, enfeebled, ancient spirit. Yet, "Nay," he cried, "for here's the place of paradox—and as time goes forward, I shall grow younger!" And hard upon the heels of that realization came another: that he might wander where he would yet never find that Spirit within whose throat he wandered—the Spirit that did invest this place.
Or did the place invest the Spirit? "Aye!" he cried in triumph. " 'Tis not Hell's mouth that I did enter, but Finagle's!" and his throat was like unto a Klein flask. Therefore, Father Vidicon did set forth again, with heart renewed and fear held in abeyance, to pace onward and onward, downward to his left, then upward left gain, until the wall did fall away beneath his hand and the floor did curve away beneath him. Then he cried in triumph, "I have come without! Nay, Spirit, look upon me—for I have come from out to stand upon thy skin! Nay, behold me!"
A door thundered up scant feet away, nearly knocking him backward with the wind of its passage. He did fall back, plunging downward and crying out in fear, flailing about him, near to panic—and his hand caught upon a spoke which did grow from that surface there below. More such spikes caught him, pressing most painfully against him, for their points were sharp; yet he heeded not the pain, but did gaze upward, and did behold a great and glowing baleful eye that did fill all his field of vision.
"Indeed, I see thee now," a great voice rumbled. "May there be praise in censure! I had begun to think I would never have thee out from my system!"
"Nor wilt thou," Father Vidicon did cry in triumph, "for the outside of thy system is the inside! Indeed, thine inside is thine outside, and thine outside's inside! They are all one, conjoined in endlessness!"
"Do not carol victory yet," the huge voice rumbled, "for thou dost address Finagle, author of all that doth twist back upon itself. I am the fearsome spirit that doth invest all paradox, and doth make two aspects of any entity separate and opposed as thesis and antithesis, in Hegelian duality."
"Ah, is it Hegel's, then?" Father Vidicon did cry; but,
"Nay," Finagle rumbled, "for Hegel thus was mine."
"Thou dost afright me not," Father Vidicon did cry. "I know thee well at last! Thou art the bridge from Tomorrow to Yesterday, for Positive to Negative, from nucleus's strong force thus to weak! Thou art the bridge that doth conjoin all those that do appear opposed!"
"Thou hast said it." Finagle's voice did echo all about him. "And I am thus the Beginning and the End of all. Bow down and adore me, for I am He whom thou dost call thy Lord!"
"Thou art not!" the Saint did cry, and righteous wrath arose within him. "Nay, thou art a part of Him, as are we all—yet but a part! Thou must needs therefore be within His limit and control."
"Art thou so certain, then?" The great eye did narrow in anger. "For an I were the Beginning and the Ending joined, how could I lie?"
"Why, for that," Father Vidicon replied, "thou art the Spirit of all Paradox, and canst speak true words in such a way that they express mistruth! Thus thou dost lie by speaking sooth!'"
"Thou hast too much of comprehension for my liking," Finagle then did rumble. "Ward thee, priest! For I must annihilate thy soul!"
Light seared, and did shock the darkness, turning all to fire, lancing the good Saint's orbs sightless with light. He did clap his palms over them, and closed them tightly—yet the light remained. Recalling then that he was within the Paradox of Lands, he did ope his eyes to slits, and the little light admitted did darken dazzle, till the Saint could once again distinguish form and detail.
He beheld a gigantic, fiery bird that did drift up from ashes, its wings widespread and cupped for hovering, beak reaching out to slash at him. Then terror struck the priest's stout heart, and he grasped the spikes that held him kneeling on Finagle's flesh and, throwing back his head, did cry, "Oh Father! Hear me now, or I must perish! Behold thy servant, kneeling here in helplessness, beset by that dread raptor called the Phoenix, in whom resides vast power, for in its end doth it begin! Give me now, I pray thee, some shield, some weapon here for my defense, or I must perish quite! Even the last shreds of my soul must be transformed and subsumed into pure, unmodulated energy devoid of structure, and that fearsome predator doth smite me!'
He held up hands in supplication—and light did glare within his palm, pulling back and pulling in, imploding, gathering together, coalescing—and the Saint did hold an Egg of Light!
Then did the Spirit's vasty laugh fill all the Universe, bellowing in triumphant joy, "Nay, foolish priest! For all thy pleas to thy Creator, nothing more than this hath he to give thee! An egg—and thou wouldst oppose it 'gainst the bird full-flown! Now yield thee up, for thou must perish!"
But, "Not so," the Saint did cry, "for I know thee well, and know that when thou most doth laugh, thou art most in dread—and when thou dost most gloat on victory, thou art most in terror of defeat. Thou must needs be, for to thy Phoenix grown out of an ending, I do bring a beginning that must needs bear its death!'
Then he did rise, that he might face the greatest peril of his existence upright and courageous; and he held the Egg out in his two hands cupped, as though it were an offering.
The Phoenix screamed, and fiery wings beat downward to surround him. The beak of flame seared toward him, like unto a laser; and he bore himself bravely, but felt his spirit quail within him. Fire did surround him on every side, closer then and closer—and the Spirit of pure energy did envelop him and did sink in upon him . . .
And inward passed him. The heat of that passing did sear his face, and he closed his eyes against it. Cool breath then touched his cheek and, opening his eyes, he saw the bird, shrunken now unto a hand's breadth, shrinking still, diminishing and growing smaller. Its despairing cry did pierce his ears and heart; for as it shrank, it sank. The Egg absorbed all flame and every erg of energy, until the phoenix's head did shrink at last within the shell. There it sat, glowing within Father Vidicon's cupped palms, brighter and more pure than e'er it had been.
The priest breathed a sigh and cried, "All praise be to Thee, my Lord, who hath saved me from the mountain of the Light of Death."
Then the dazzle faded from his eyes, and again he saw that huge orb, still glinting balefully upon him. "How now, then, priest," Finagle's voice did rumble. "Thou hast defeated my most puissant servant. What shalt thou, therefore, do with me
?" His voice did sneer. "Shalt thou now annihilate me? Nay, do so—for then thy race shall be free of this urge to self-defeat that doth invest them!"
Fathomless tranquility enveloped the priest. "Nay," quoth he, "for I cannot make thee cease to exist, nor can any—for thou art part of God, as are we all, and thou art spirit—the Spirit of fell Paradox. Nay, tempt me not to hubris, arrogance—for I do know that, did I eliminate thee, thou wouldst turn even that about, and make of it Creation. Thus wouldst thou blaspheme—for none can create, save God. Thou wouldst not die, but wouldst simply change thy form—and 'tis better to have thee as thou art, so that we know thine appearance. Go thy ways—thou art a necessary part of existence."
"So, then." And the huge voice ran with disappointment quite profound—nay, almost with despair. "Thus thou wilt let me live."
But Father Vidicon knew that when the spirit of Paradox did seem desperate, it was in truth triumphant. "Be not so proud," he did admonish it, "for thou art even now within the hand of God, and 'tis that which he hath proven though me—that even thou canst be comprehended, and accepted within a person's harmony of being. Thus thine urge to self-defeat can be transformed to growth. Thou wilt ever be with Adam's breed, fell Spirit, and with Eve's—but never again need any man or woman fear thee. For they will know thou art as much a part of the world about them as the rain and wind, and as much of the world within them as the urge to charity."
"So thou dost say," the spirit rumbled, "yet doth that not make a mockery of thy victory? Dost thou not see that I have triumphed finally? What shalt thou do, with that Phoenix thou hast at long last slain by bringing within the scope of Birth? Wilt thou then destroy it, and with it, all beginnings?"
The priest then shook his head. "Nay; for 'tis not mine to do with any wise. I must surrender it unto its Source." Then he cried, "Oh, Father! I give thee now thine Egg of Rebirth, with all the thanks and praise that I do own—thanks that thou hast preserved me, but more—that thou hast deemed me worthy to become Thine instrument for this restarting!" He thrust the Egg up high, an offering there within his hands, and it rose above his palms and arced upward, and farther upward and farther, and Father Vidicon did cry out, "See! This is the Egg of All, the Cosmic Egg, the Monobloc!"
Then at its zenith did the Egg explode, filling all that emptiness with light, searing all the Void with its seeding of Energy and Matter, fulfilling all with the Cosmic Dust and with it, the structure of Time and Space, thus bringing Order out from Chaos.
And Father Vidicon did rise within it, like to a flaring candle, for flame surrounded him transcendent and unburning; and thus did he ascend through Space and Time, unto the Mind of God.
The Elf House
An Isles Story
David Drake
Cashel didn't need to carry his quarterstaff in the corridors of the Vicar's palace—what'd been the Count of Haft's place till Prince Garric arrived the week before—but he was more comfortable holding the smooth, familiar hickory than he'd be otherwise. He didn't dislike big buildings, but he disliked being in them; and this palace had a nasty feel all its own.
Besides, the staff had been a friend in places where Cashel had no other friends. He wouldn't feel right about leaving it alone in the huge suite assigned to him while he went off to dinner with Garric in the roof garden. If the servants, officials, and the amazing number of other people crowding the palace stared at him, well, a man as big as Cashel or-Kenset was used to being stared at whether he carried a quarterstaff or not.
For a wonder there wasn't anybody around at the moment. Cashel sauntered down the hall looking at the cherub mural painted just above shoulder level. In the dim light through the transoms of the rooms to either side, there was something new to catch every time he passed.
Cashel started to grin at the little fellow with his wings spread as he struggled to lead a goat who didn't want to go. The sound of a girl crying jerked his head around.
He'd been holding the quarterstaff straight up and down in one hand. Now, without him thinking about it his left hand slipped into position a span below the right and he slanted the staff before him. "Ma'am?" he said, ready to deal with whatever was making a woman cry.
The girl wore servant's clothing: a cap and a simple gray tunic set off by a sash of bleached wool. She knelt a little way down a corridor which joined the main one from the right. Cashel didn't remember there being anything but a blank wall there, but he guessed he'd always missed it because he'd been intent on the mural opposite.
She gave another vain push at the inward-opening door in front of her, then looked up at Cashel with eyes glittering with tears. "Oh, sir!" she said. "I dropped the key and it slipped under the door. The steward will beat me if I don't get it back!"
"I don't guess he will," Cashel said. The notion that somebody'd beat a little slip of a girl surprised him into speaking in a growl. He didn't know her, but he didn't think men ought to hit any girls. He was real sure no man was going to try that twice in front of Cashel or-Kenset.
He cleared his throat and went on in a normal voice, "But anyhow, let's see if I can't get your key."
The door stood a finger's breadth ajar. Cashel pressed with the fingertips of his right hand without budging it further. It was stuck, that was all; rusty hinges, he figured, since the panel didn't bind to the lintel or transom. Through the crack at the edge he could see a glint of gold in what was otherwise darkness; the key was there, all right. It must've bounced wrong off the stone floor.
Cashel leaned his quarterstaff against the wall beside him and placed his hands one above the other on the latch side of the panel. The girl looked up at him intently. She seemed older, all of a sudden, and there was no sign of her frightened despair of a moment ago. He made sure his feet were set, then put his weight against the wood.
More people lived in the palace than did in all Barca's Hamlet where Cashel'd grown up. Even though there wasn't any traffic in the main corridor, sounds constantly echoed through the hallways and made the floor quiver. All that stopped; Cashel pressed against the panel in dead silence. Maybe it was the effort, because the door still didn't want to give—
And then it did, though with creaking unwillingness. It opened another finger's breadth, twice that. . . .
The girl stuck her arm in, calling something that Cashel could barely hear through the roar of blood in his ears. "I can't quite . . . ," she said, so he kept pushing and the door gave some more, enough that she squeezed her torso into the room beyond.
Cashel shoved harder yet. He could feel the wood fighting him like the staff of a bent bow, ready to snap back if he let up the pressure.
"I've got it!" the girl said, only her legs from the knees down out in the hallway where Cashel could see them. "I've—"
And then she shrieked "Milord, I'm falling!" shrilly. Her legs slid out of sight, following the rest of her. She was wearing sandals with straps of green-dyed cut-work.
Cashel didn't understand what was happening, but as the girl slipped inward he slammed his shoulder hard against the panel instead of just shoving with his hands. He hadn't done that before because he didn't want to smash the door, but now he didn't care.
The door didn't break, neither the thick fir panel nor the squealing hinges that fought him all the way, and he swung it open at right angles. The room within was small and dingy. There was no furniture, and part of the rotten wainscoting had fallen onto the floor.
The girl had the key in one hand and reached toward Cashel with the other. She looked like she was sliding backward, but she was already farther away than the far wall of the room.
Cashel grabbed the staff with his left hand and stretched it out to the girl. She couldn't reach it and screamed again. Her voice was growing fainter; he could see her body shrink as the distance increased.
"Duzi!" Cashel bellowed. He strode into the room, holding the quarterstaff out in both hands. The girl grabbed it, but Cashel's feet slipped like he was standing on an icy hillside.
The d
oor slammed behind him. The only light was a dim, yellow-brown glow that silhouetted the girl's body and he and she plunged down an unseen slope.
* * *
Cashel felt himself spinning as he dropped, but his body wasn't touching anything. The girl held the other end of his staff; he couldn't see her expression, but she didn't bawl in fear or make any sound at all that he noticed.
They skidded onto a gritty hillside and stopped. Cashel looked over his shoulder. All there was there was gray sky and a rising slope. There wasn't any sign of the room where they'd come from. He looked all around and didn't see anything he liked better.
The bare hills ranged in color from yellow-white to the red of rusty iron. For the most part the rock had weathered into gravel, but there were outcrops where the stone must've been harder. The general landscape wasn't pretty, but the outcrops were worse. Whenever Cashel looked hard at one, he started to see a large, angry face.
He got up, brushing crumbled rock from the back of his tunic. He hadn't come down hard, for all that they'd seemed to be rushing headlong through emptiness. He glanced at the girl, already on her feet. She smiled and said, "My name is Mona, Lord Cashel. Do you know where we are?"